Living With A First Class Arse
by Zayz
Summary: [Complete] LilyJames, SiriusOC. A highly sarcastic, silly, angsty, and occasionally romantic collection of 100 drabblings that are under or slightly over a thousand words each. Rated for language. Read and review?
1. Rain & Poetry

_A/N: When I get bored or want to procrastinate, I like to drabble tiny fics in Lily's point of view. They won't really be the center of my focus though; they're just posted because I have nothing better to do with them, and if you want to, you can read and review._

* * *

I sit by the window, and I listen.

I don't exactly know what I listen for, but I listen.

Birds chirp outside my window. Water droplets fall on the thick glass separating me from the outside world. The common room is silent for once. I like that; it's not often I can lounge about this way and enjoy the quiet. Gryffindors are the loudest in the school.

I hear a noise. I turn around, looking for the source. It's a boy; a boy with hair darker than charcoal, eyes more intricate than ivory, and an ego bigger than Russia. He smiles at me, and I turn back to the window. There is nothing worth paying attention to in that boy.

He drops a piece of parchment in my lap before going back to his dormitory. I pick it up and I open it.

_Rain falls outside on the grass  
__Forming little drops of dew  
__Despite that little miracle though,  
__All I think of is you_

I toss the parchment aside; I have no use for it. I go back to watching the rain, losing myself to my thoughts.

A true little miracle, I decide, would be James Potter not flirting with me one day in the week.


	2. Breakfast

My favorite thing to have for breakfast is a muffin.

Muffins are ideal, really – small, compact, easy to sneak into class, and delicious. Chocolate is my favorite; I enjoy eating chocolate muffins for breakfast everyday. On one ordinary day, I sit with my friend Ainsley, eating and talking as usual, and Ainsley asks me a question.

"Lily why do you hate James Potter?"

"I thought that the answer to that would have been obvious already," I answer coolly, sipping some orange juice.

"I know you think he's a jerk, which he is sometimes, but right now he's perfectly innocent," she says. "Maybe you should give him a chance."

I turn to look at James; he takes a grape from the dish in front of him, throws it up high in the air, and catches it in his mouth to much applause. He sees Ainsley and me watching, and winks at us. I stick my tongue out childishly at him and look back to my friend.

"Nope; not giving him a chance just yet," is all I tell her as I take another bite of my beloved muffin.


	3. Favorite Colors

Ainsley and I walk down to Transfiguration, our last class of the day, together as we always do, but this time, James Potter joins us.

"Hello ladies," he says, giving us his usual, cheeky grin.

"Hello yourself, madam," I say back sardonically.

Ainsley giggles to herself and James makes a face. "Funny. Anyway, I wanted to ask you – what's your favorite color, Lily?"

"Why do you want to ask me that?"

"I've always wondered," he says. "Just tell me."

"Fine," I grudgingly say. "My favorite color is purple. Happy?"

"Purple…interesting," James says thoughtfully.

"What's your favorite, by the way?" I ask in spite of myself.

"Green." He flashes me a grin. "The color of emeralds."

I have nothing to say back, so I remain silent. James gives me one more smile and leaves while Ainsley and I continue to Transfiguration. I am about to tell her something, but she appears to be deep in thought. After a few minutes of silence, she says, "I think he likes that shade of green because that's the color of your eyes."

I snort with laughter. "Yeah right – as if James Potter would ever like green just because of my eyes."


	4. Fire & Water

Sitting next to James Potter in Charms class is truly a vexing fate.

He talks nonstop, and if James ever talks to me, it's sure to be a conversation revolving around asking me out – that is what my previous experiences tells me. Today though, as I sit quietly, trying to ignore him, he tries again.

"Lily, your resolute fire is highly intriguing," he tells me. "But one day, my water is going to douse it."

"For someone who doesn't know what the word 'ignoramus' means, I'm astonished that those words can come out of your mouth," I answer coolly.

"They can and they have," James says smugly. "But honestly – the right amount of water can get rid of any amount of fire."

"Potter, you will never be able to take out my fire," I vow irritably. "Now leave me alone."

Fortunately (for me, anyway), the bell rings and I escape out of the classroom with Ainsley. Stupid James – I would never, ever let him get the best of me.

Water or no water.


	5. Pajama Pants

On a dare, Ainsley and I dress in our pajama pants around the school.

She wears her baby blue ones with the silver glitter, and I wear my pastel purple with cartoon kitten heads. Hogwarts students find this highly amusing to see, but Ainsley simply gives them The Finger if they say anything too rude – it serves us well.

James and Sirius Black take a special interest in our pajama pants; Sirius finds Ainsley and he puts his hand on her rear – she shrieks and slaps him across the face. Then, undaunted, he tries to pull her pants down; he succeeds and a memorable five minutes are spent watching her chase him around the corridor, bashing his head repeatedly and calling him a variety of rude names.

While I observe this, James sneaks up behind me and tries to pull down my own pants as well. I turn my head to watch him continue to try pulling them down, but he has no luck. I turn around to face him once I am able to tear my eyes away from Ainsley (who is furious) and Sirius (who is laughing).

With a proud, self-satisfied smirk, I tell him, "Gotta love Sticking Charms, eh?"


	6. Writer's Block

_A/N: This is my situation right now...minus the conquering writer's block part._

I sit. I watch the clock tick. I listen to music on the radio. My fingers linger above the parchment, gripping the quill. My mind seems to stand still; there is absolutely nothing I can think of to write about. I feel the need to write something, but I can't make myself find inspiration. What is this called? Ainsley says I'm suffering from writer's block. I say I'm suffering, period.

Right now, life stinks.

I'm thirsty, but I have already had more butterbeer than anyone should ever attempt to drink. I'm hungry, but I've been eating all day. I sigh and try to lose myself to the song playing. It doesn't work; it's not the right one. What is the right song? I don't even know.

I put my head down, letting my cheek rest on the parchment. I'm sleepy, but I don't want to sleep – I want to write. Ainsley is upstairs; I don't know what she's doing. Probably hitting Sirius – that's one of her favorite things to do when she's bored.

Ugh, it's no use; I toss the parchment on the ground and push my quill away. I have writer's block; I hate it to pieces. I am restless, but there is nothing I can make myself do besides stew over parchment. I take out a fresh sheet to try tempting myself into thinking and writing, but this doesn't work either. I sing to the song on the radio, trying to let it rouse the idea department of my brain. No such luck; that part of my brain has gone on vacation, I reckon. Somewhere nice, perhaps – maybe Australia. I have always wanted to go to Australia. Maybe I'll meet up with that section of my brain when I go there.

I allow my mind to wander in a pathetic attempt at thinking some more. It wanders to how much I hate James Potter, like it normally does. What's left of my brain seems to like thinking about my passionate detestation for that boy. I don't know why. However, I think a little harder; I can write about how much I hate him. That should be easy enough. I can mold it into something else later.

I write his name on my page, and a million ideas flow at once – it's quite frightening, really. My vacationing portion of brain seems to have returned to me in a hurry – maybe Australia got trampled by kangaroos or something. Either way, I know what I'm going to write, and I write with a passion.

Several hours later, I have finished a long, utterly unromantic piece about a young woman who does not get along with a boy she knows. It is insanity, but it is how I feel; I'm rejuvenated at last, and I know what I want to do with the rest of my tale.

Haha – I win this round, evil writer's block. So there.


	7. I Love You

In Charms, I managed to get James moved away from me after complaining on nine different occasions. The problem? Professor Flitwick moves him right behind me today, since there are apparently 'no other seats.'

I am about ready to cry – after sitting next to me, the worst place he can go is behind me.

He shifted his things to his new seat, and not even two minutes afterwards, I feel a tug on my hair.

"You've got pretty hair," he tells me.

"Thank you," I reply shortly.

Another tug.

"It's really soft – what shampoo do you use?"

I sigh and whisper, "None of your business."

"Enough, Mr. Potter and Ms. Evans," Flitwick squeaks at us. He commences with the lesson and I glare at James.

"You got me in trouble," I scold him.

"Sorry."

Five minutes later.

"I love you," he tells me in my ear.

I'm about to inform him that I doubt it, but Flitwick snaps at us to pay attention.

"Jerk," I end up accusing him under my breath before I scoot my seat away from his.

That stupid, stupid boy.


	8. Swearing

After class, as I leave alone (Ainsley is ill and in the Hospital Wing), James suddenly picks up my pace and walks with me so naturally and easily that I wonder if he does it more often. I have nothing to say to him though, so we walk in silence for a few minutes.

Then James asks me, "Lily, have you ever said a bad word before in your life?"

"Yes," I answer. "And they're often directed at you."

He raises an eyebrow and grins. "Really? Like what?"

"You're a bastard," I say matter-of-factly.

"I stand corrected – you _can_ say bad words," James says, impressed.

I roll my eyes. "Why do you even care?"

"Just curious." James smiles. "I just called someone a name and I wondered if you'd ever felt that way."

"Why did you think of me?"

"You were in my field of vision," he clarifies flirtatiously. "And I'm always thinking about you."

"Right." I sigh roughly. "Bye, Potter." With this, I retreat down another hallway so to avoid James, and I do.

I snort as I make my way to my next destination – as if I was a cursing-virgin with him in the same school!


	9. Dance Invites

A Hogwarts dance is approaching – that spells trouble, because if there's ever a dance, James is sure to ask me to go with him incessantly every moment he sees me.

Sure enough, he strides up to me at lunch while I sit with Ainsley and requests for me to accompany him to the dance. I say no. He wonders why not. I say he should go away. He wonders why I want him gone. Ainsley suggests it is because I have bought him a fully-paid vacation package to a very hot and fiery vacation house beneath the ground, to which he sighs and leaves – it's a typical rejection.

But what makes it different is Sirius – he grants Ainsley the apparent honor of going to the dance with him.

"Read between the lines, Black," she says scathingly, holding up her first three fingers. "I'd never go with you."

Sirius shrugs nonchalantly and leaves, but there is still something about his departure that makes even Ainsley feel uncomfortable.

"Dances and boys," she grumbles as we leave lunch. "It was all so much easier when they had cooties and we didn't want to be near them."


	10. Dance

For the Hogwarts dances, Ainsley and I usually keep each other company, and we generally prefer not dressing up. Casual clothing, such as a skirt and tank top, do the trick most times. Ainsley avoids wearing short skirts these days because of Sirius always sticking his hand up her legs, but she has no choice but to wear one anyway for fashion reasons. I stick to pants – I, unlike her, take every step I can to stay away from potentially embarrassing situations, even if they make me look bad.

It is just like any other dance though – it takes place in the Great Hall, there is lots of dancing, and it is mostly dark. Ainsley and I stick to the side, discussing just how stupid dancing is…that is, until we are joined by James and Sirius, our favorite little stalkers.

"Ainsley!" Sirius says her name warmly and, of course, tries to reach into her skirt; but she slaps him, threatening to report him, to which he only continues to flirt.

James tries a different tactic – he tries to build up slowly before he tries to put his hand into my shirt (seeing as I was wearing pants).

"Go away," I snap. But, before he says anything else, I huff away before anyone can stop me – I'm known to do that when I hate my surroundings.

I come to the conclusion, then, that I hate school dances with a burning passion – what was there to like, anyway?


	11. Literature

I am reading my book in the common room during my free period. It's a Muggle classic – Romeo and Juliet. I have already read it, but I am reading it again for the fun of it. Of course, James cannot possibly accept the sight of me reading peacefully, so he bounds right up to me.

"Hey Lils," he says, grinning.

"Bye James," I say absentmindedly.

"What's that?" he points at my book.

"It's a book," I inform him. "I'm sure you have never seen one you weren't forced to read, but, believe it or not, some people read for fun."

"Haha," he says sarcastically. "But my mum loves that book – she told me what happens. The bloke falls in love with some girl his family hates, thinks she died, kills himself, but she didn't die and she promptly kills herself too."

"Though you sound like an eight year old, that is, in essentials, what happens," I say.

"You know, Juliet," James says, his voice laden with his cheeky flirtation, leaning closer to me. "I'll be happy to be your Romeo."

"If you could hurry up and kill yourself then, that would be great; I won't have to do it myself," I snipe at him.

James rolls his eyes, sighs, and leaves, obviously discouraged. I feel a twinge of remorse, but not much; I'm more annoyed than anything else.

My Romeo his arse…


	12. Sports

After a dreadful flying lesson where I nearly broke my arm falling off my broom, I huff off to the common room; people have been laughing at me and I don't wish to stick around for it.

However, James finds me on my way, and I am displeased to see him suppressing a smile.

"Lily, I'm sorry to say it, but you are the worst flyer I've ever seen," he says apologetically with a chuckle.

"Gee, thanks James," I spit.

"But I could teach you some time, if you'd like," he offers. "Give me an hour and you'll be an expert."

"No thank you," I refuse. "I'm not getting on a broomstick again, least of all with you next to me."

James rolls his eyes but smiles at me. "You don't have to freak out on me – it's actually a lot of fun. You would like it."

"I'd _really_ like it if you stopped continuing this topic and left me alone," I say pointedly.

"I can take a hint," he says, dejected nonetheless. "See you later."

Normally, I would make a cutting remark, but this time, I don't; I simply stalk off to find Ainsley.

I have now officially decided that sports are evil, evil inventions.


	13. Throwing Fits

I sit in my Transfiguration seat, as I always do, but I sense that something is different. I hear laughter, as though someone made a private joke, and I am instantly suspicious – James Potter is in this class, so trouble is nearly a guarantee.

Unable to take it, I turn around and his face is in mine; he had been there, obviously waiting for me to see him. I decide to use the tranquility method; I simply gaze at him, willing him silently to move away. He doesn't; we sit there, just staring at each other for about fifteen second before Sirius shouts, "Ugh! Throw a fit, Lily; I'm about to lose ten Galleons!"

"Keep quiet, Lily," Peter says. "I'm about to get ten Galleons!"

I choose to do what Peter wants (though it wasn't without difficulty) and Peter cheers while Sirius swears. James finally backs away to go to his own seat, and I smile triumphantly; mission accomplished.

Though it wasn't as fun, I'd now discovered how to stare evilly and repel annoying jerks…this would definitely come in handy later.


	14. Waking Up

What a night, I subconsciously think. I'd fallen asleep some time after eleven; I'd had a lot of homework. I still had some left, come to think of it. Better get to it. My eyes flicker open, and the sky is still dark – time to wake up. I yawn heavily, sit up, and look around. This isn't my dormitory, I realize. This isn't the common room either; I've never been here. Where am I?

I open my eyes more fully and take in the darkened scene in front of me. Heads I don't recognize lay motionless on pillows, and there is a chorus of snoring around me – hideous, loud snoring that sounds like the world's truck population starting up. I look to the floor next to me and I notice a boy, curled up against the draft in his covers, fast asleep. My heart melted at the sight – he was cold, so why wasn't he in bed?

A closer look tells me that this boy is James and a bit of common sense tells me that I'm in his bed. With a jolt, I become conscious of the fact that he must have taken me from the common room, put me in bed, and consequently slept on the ground. That was sweet; I feel guiltier than I can express in words.

I get out of his bed and shake James. He doesn't wake. I sigh, pull out my wand, and levitate him into the covers; I tuck him in and watch him cuddle up in an almost childlike manner. I smile slightly as I leave.

If anyone asks me, I still hate him, but in the safety of my own mind, I discover that I actually find him kind of nice. But only kind of.


	15. His Eyes

_A/N: The point of this one is a bit vague - it takes some inferring - but I hope it's clear enough for you!_

* * *

I do not normally look at James Potter's eyes – I have much better things to look at, of course – but today, he comes to me in Charms, his eyes swollen and red.

"Lily, my eye hurts," he complains. "Look at it for me."

I'm taken aback; he knows I have no desire to look into his eyes, yet he asks me anyway. "No," I refuse.

"Please?" He really does look like he's in pain, so I sigh and peer into his red eyes. I notice that they're actually a gorgeous honey-tinted hazel; very unusual, but very pretty all the same.

"Just wash them out with water; you'll be fine," I tell him gruffly.

He nods, but then says, "Lil, now my lips hurt – kiss them and make them better?"

I smack his should and snap, "Heck no. Go away, would you?"

Unaffected, he leaves as requested, but I realize two very strange things:

1) I smell vinegar  
2) I can't stop thinking about the color of his eyes


	16. Cookie Exploits

_A/N: Based on an incident my friend told me about that she had witnessed in eighth grade._

Ainsley, being the perpetually hungry person that she is, manages to convince me to accompany her to the kitchens for a snack. I go, simply because some chocolate wouldn't hurt, and we both select three chocolate chip cookies, freshly made. Together, we walk, munching and talking, until we bump into James and Sirius a little ways down.

The moment he sees our cookies, Sirius gives us his favorite puppy dog look. "Can I have a cookie from one of you?" he asks us pleadingly.

"No," Ainsley says at once.

"No way," I say, taking a slow bite and chewing it at my most leisurely pace. "These are far too yummy for you, Sirius."

"Why?" he grumbles, looking at my cookies with an evident longing.

"Because you're _you_," Ainsley explains, copying me by taking a time-consuming bite, but crunching on it with her mouth open so that we can all see her progress.

"I'm not Sirius – can _I_ have a cookie?" James asks, his eyes beseeching.

"No," I say merrily, popping the rest of my cookie into my mouth, thoroughly enjoying myself. "What have you ever done for me?"

"I tried to give you the gift of my friendship," he tries.

"No," I repeat. "I don't want to give you my cookie."

With this, I finish the last of my three cookies and give the distraught boys a wide smile. Ainsley licks the extra chocolate off of her fingers and says, "I love cookies. Don't you?"

And, laughing like a maniac, she leads me away; like me, she began to reflect on what we learned today – there was definitely more than one way to enjoy a chocolate chip cookie.


	17. Library Discussions

During study hall, Ainsley and I sit together, pretending to do our homework while really discussing James Potter.

"So do you like him?" Ainsley grins as she asks this age-old question.

"No," I reply. "I hate him."

"How can you hate someone who's in love with you?"

I yelp, which causes fussy Madam Pince to give us a beady glare, which serves as a warning in her book. I lower my voice as I hiss, "He's not in love with _me_, he's in love with the _challenge_ I present."

"Either way, _you_ are in both possibilities." Ainsley giggles annoyingly, twirling her hair. "Ah! I'm so excited for you!"

I growl at her, but unfortunately, the sound is too loud for Pince; she glares at me again, which counts as my second warning. I turn impatiently back to Ainsley, who is wearing a very silly smile, and whisper, "I hate him, he doesn't love me, you are done – end of discussion."

"You only get harsh when you're implying something else," Ainsley says quietly in an aggravating sing-song voice.

I smack her on her arm, making her scream like a deflating helium balloon, and Pince has had it with us – Ainsley and I are banished from the library for the rest of the day. Once outside in the corridor, I do not speak to her; I simply stalk up to my dormitory to be alone.

I hate James Potter – why is that so difficult for her to comprehend?

_A/N: That was based on a conversation I've had with one of my friends in a library about the boy I think she likes. However, we were not loud, like Ainsley and Lily were. :)_


	18. Passing Notes

In Transfiguration, I pass a note to Ainsley out of sheer tedium.

_I'm so bored! Lily_

Ainsley picks it up from the ground where I threw it, reads it, writes on it, and tosses it back.

_Me too. McGonagall really knows how to rant. Ainsley_

I snort quietly and throw a note back to her saying 'too true.' However, this time, it is intercepted by none other than James Potter, who sits near us. Ainsley and I both groan under our breaths as he reads our short conversation, chuckles, and writes something on it. He waves his wand and duplicates the paper before promptly giving me and Ainsley each a crumpled-up version. I open it up and read what he had written.

_Hey girlies! Let's hit Hogsmeade tonight, shall we? James_

Ainsley and I simultaneously reach over and slap him on either side of his face in response. McGonagall takes notice and gives us a detention with a single, crisp sentence from her thin mouth. Ainsley insists that it was perfectly justified self-defense; he had harassed us. James protests, of course, but I back up Ainsley. We are known for being trustworthy while James is infamous for his variety of excuses – McGonagall believes us, gives James the detention, and commences with the rest of her lecture, just like that.

Ainsley and I high-five while James sighs mutinously; we have successfully mastered the exact technique that is passing notes in class, and we love every second of it.

_A/N: Based on me, my friend, and this extremely irritating boy in our math class, who, in fact, sent us a note almost exactly like James's. Including the girlies part. No, I'm not kidding, and that's what scares me._


	19. Periods

_A/N: I don't know if I have any guy readers (I'm sorry, I just don't know these things - I'm kind of stupid that way), but if you're a guy, I'm warning you now - this is a girly short and you may not want to read it._

* * *

I absolutely hate my period. 

I never notice it until it's far too late – Ainsley, blushing, will tell me I've got blood on the back of my skirt and I groan loudly before running off to put on a tampon. The process takes place right on cue today, the last day of the month – Ainsley confirms it for me at breakfast.

Regrettably, I can't find any time to change, and I feel horrible – and wet. I beg Ainsley to hide my relentless bleeding by walking right behind me whenever I have to go anywhere, and I feel even worse because I get to add guilt to my list of emotions. I always end up thinking back with a fondness to those good old days when no girl I knew had to worry about her monthly impending doom.

I make it through first hour without dying, but during second hour, I am in sheer agony, and, worst of all, I'm not able to escape to the bathroom. I'm cramping awfully and I think I'm getting blood on my seat.

On my way out of the room at the end of a class that seemed to go on forever, Ainsley is a little delayed in covering me and none other than James Potter asks me, in a loud voice everyone can hear, "Why do you have blood on your butt, Evans?"

I hear giggles around the room as Ainsley growls on my behalf, "Bug off, Potter." With a wail, I tear off to my dormitory without Ainsley, change my skirt/underwear, and put on my tampon with a certain relief. The bell rings to start the next class during this process, but I take my time finishing up anyway.

I decide that I can afford to be late to third hour today.


	20. Inspirational People

Charms is probably the best class ever to do anything useless in.

Since our class is so advanced, Professor Flitwick decides that he wants to know a bit more about the exceptional students in his presence every day and what makes them click. He tells us to stand up in front of the class and give a short, informal speech about the most inspirational person in our life. He then gives us a minute to think about it, and I turn to Ainsley, worried.

"What am I supposed to do?" I ask her.

"I dunno," Ainsley says with all her helpfulness. "But I'm going to say my mum, because she's not married and doesn't ever want to be."

I laugh – that's definitely Ainsley. "That's a good idea, but I can't say my mum as well; it would seem like I copied you."

"Fine, then why don't you say your sister Petunia?" she suggests.

"Why Petunia?" I inquire, wrinkling my nose. "She doesn't inspire me."

"Yes, she does," Ainsley says. "She inspires the belief that sisters can be utterly nasty creatures."

I laugh again. "That's a good one – I think I'll say it."

Ainsley grins; she loves giving me an idea. We settle in as Professor Flitwick calls time, and requests a volunteer. Of course, James and Sirius volunteer at once, and after a brief shoving match on who would go first, Sirius comes to the front of the room.

"The person that inspires me most is Ainsley," he says, pointing her out, in case she wasn't embarrassed enough. "Because she's hot and shares some of my stubborn opinions."

The class begins to chuckle freely as Sirius bows and goes back to his seat, but Ainsley looks ready to die. I hug her comfortingly and pat her hair, assuring her that I will allow her to hex him until next week the moment class lets out. However, while I'm doing this, James takes Sirius's spot in the front of the room, and clears his throat.

"My most inspirational person," he begins, "is Lily Evans. She's beautiful, she's clever, she's hilarious, and she's the reason I want to come to my classes every day."

There is a mixture of 'awww's' and more chuckles after this, and he goes back to his seat as well, but winks at me so that everyone can see. Now it's Ainsley's turn to hug me and promise to throw him off the Astronomy Tower for me, because I am mortified beyond belief.

I decide to leave the room and ditch the rest of the period, something I never do – anything is better than being in the room with James Potter as his most inspiring person. Anything.


	21. Broom Cupboards

Its midnight, and I can't find Ainsley.

I get worried, in such situations; Ainsley is not one to stay up late. If anything, she goes to sleep early because she is not, by any means, a morning person. I look all over the common room for her, but she is nowhere to be found.

Crap.

I grow desperate as I search through every room on the seventh floor. No Ainsley. Where could she go? What could she be doing? Was she in trouble? Awful thoughts go through my mind, and they only speed up my search for my best friend.

As I pass the broom cupboard in a nearly forgotten corner of the school, I hear some kind of noise inside – movement. What could be in there? I had nothing to lose; I cautiously open the door, and let out a squeal of mixed surprise and repulsion.

Why? Because inside the broom cupboard, I do find Ainsley…but she is completely drunk and snogging Sirius Black, who looks up when he sees me.

"Do you mind?" he asks indignantly.

"What did you do to her?" I inquire, horrified.

"Slipped some potion into her drink, flirted a little, brought her here," he says casually. "Now go away, would you?"

"Sirius," Ainsley coos, the syllables slurring in the single word to show how drunk Sirius had to make her. "C'mere." She pulls him down next to her and snogs him again. I close the door, feeling the contents of my dinner come perilously close to my mouth again.

Poor Sirius…he's going to be more than dead meat when Ainsley wakes up sober tomorrow morning and finds out what he did to her.

I won't miss him though.


	22. Messing With Ainsley

I awake very early in the morning after seeing Ainsley and Sirius in the broom cupboard to a shrill scream. I recognize it as Ainsley's; I look up to see her bursting into our dormitory, hollering for all she is worth, and looking like she ran a marathon.

"Ainsley, what happened to you?" I ask her with a yawn.

"I was in Sirius Black's bed this morning!" she shrieked. "He didn't have a shirt on, neither did I, and I don't know what the hell he did to me last night! All I can remember is getting really drowsy and falling into someone's arms – I bet you Sirius did it to get me in his bed, that lousy bastard."

I say nothing, so Ainsley plops on her bed, horror-struck even after she has digested the terrible truth. "He's dead," she says, proving my predictions to be correct. "He's more than dead. He won't live to see tomorrow."

I nod and pad out of bed, yawning still, and get ready to go through the rest of my day. Ainsley goes to the bathroom, and takes an hour long shower, presumably to cleanse after what she had gone through, but I ignore her as I fall back onto my bed, fully dressed, for a little while longer to sleep. The last thing I hear is her walking out of the dormitory, her footsteps even ringing with revenge.

-x x x-

Throughout the day, I don't see Sirius. Nobody has seen Sirius, and anybody who has won't say what is wrong. Even James won't say what happened to Sirius – he just shivers involuntarily and walks away. I am beyond bewildered.

In the evening, I quire to Ainsley curiously, "What happened to Sirius today?"

Ainsley gives me a grimly conquering smile. "He's in the Hospital Wing."

"Why?" There's something to the way she says this that rings alarm bells in my head.

With a sigh, Ainsley tells me, "It's not good to mess with a girl, Lily. Sirius learned that today."

I must know what happened by that point; I make my way to the Hospital Wing the moment I have time, and what I see shocks me more than the sight of my best friend in the broom cupboard with Sirius.

Sirius is lying still on the hospital bed, but his hair has nearly been ripped out of his scalp by something vicious (Ainsley), his face is scratched beyond belief, a couple of his teeth are knocked out(!!!), his clothes are ripped, and his arm looks broken. Attached to his chest with Spellotape is a sign:

_I will never take advantage of a girl again._


	23. Negatives & Positives

_A/N: This short is the result of paying too much attention in my Honors Biology class and not wanting to do my homework. :)_

Ainsley and I have arguments every so often, just like normal friends do, but our arguments are quite different – they revolve around utterly inadequate topics that are of no use to anyone, but are good for discussion anyway. Take today for example, when we were arguing about biology and normal life.

"Negatives attract to positives," Ainsley tells me. "It's always been that way with atoms, and it's always been that way with humans too!"

"We are not atoms! We are people!" I shout at her.

"People are groups of atoms put in fancy patterns!" Ainsley insists. "We are attracted to our human opposites!"

"Yeah, and that's why Sirius was kept in Madam Pomfrey's care for over a week so that she could undo all the permanent damage you did to his body," I say sarcastically.

"Sirius is different," Ainsley says at once. "Sirius and I are alike in some major ways, unfortunately, and two negatives don't attract. I follow the rules. You don't – you're a negative, James is a positive, and you're trying to fool the Laws of Nature by saying you're not in love with him. You're doing a pitiful job, by the way – we all know you fancy him."

"I do not," I argue hotly. "James Potter is an arrogant jerk that I will never fall in love with."

"You will eventually," she says. "It's going to happen – it's a given. It's just going to take a lot of time, since you're two tiny atoms in a sea of molecules. But see, chemical catalysts speed up the reaction; you know, speed up how much time it'll take for you to finally bond. That's where I come in – I'm your catalyst, Lils, and I'm telling you – you're bloody in love with him!"

"Thank you, catalyst, but I'd rather you go and speed up some reaction that's actually going to work," I say, rolling my eyes. "Besides, if that's how you want to play, couldn't I say that I'm your catalyst for Sirius?"

"Like I said, we aren't meant to bond," she says. "Two negatives don't go together, remember? But you – you need to go and bloody marry James off before you miss your chance."

I turn around, and of course, James is walking right behind us, talking to Sirius and, in this particular case, making monkey faces to amuse him. I look back at Ainsley, my eyebrows raised.

"Somehow, this chance is one I don't want to take. And, like _I_ said, go and speed up some chemical reaction that's actually going to happen."


	24. Dancing in the Rain

Rain has always been one of my favorite things to watch – always. It's much better than Quidditch, yet no one ever takes the time to appreciate that. One evening though, while it rains, I get sick of sitting inside, pensively staring out of the window. After all, it makes me an easy target to flirtatious jerks like James, who like to take advantage of my quietness; it's better to do something else in the rain.

Trusting my wild impulse for the first time, I bounce out of my seat, run out to the Entrance Hall, pry open the main doors and walk out into the storm without a coat or anything on. The air is muggy and warm, while the rain is cold and refreshing to my bare skin. Dark clouds and murky skies seem to envelope me as I run out into the open, embracing the weather.

Knowing it was probably a stupid idea, I take off my socks and shoes and run out into the grass. The wet blades tickle my bare, newly-freed feet, but it feels nicer than anything I've felt before. Rivers of water run down my face, drenching my hair and running down my shirt, but its release – I love the rain.

I begin to laugh then; I just stand there and laugh. I spin and dance around the grounds, singing at the top of my lungs, but I don't care about how foolish I probably look – this is my time to do what I want, and what I want is just to be in the rain.

After about ten minutes of being out there, I see a figure come out of the doors. A closer look tells me it is none other than James Potter, most likely out to ruin another moment I'm having. I stop dancing and stand still as he comes out to where I am standing.

"What are you doing out here?" he asks.

"I'm enjoying the rain," I say. "What are _you_ doing out here?"

"Talking to you in the middle of pouring rain," he says, grinning slightly. "May I have this dance?" He offers me his hand, clearly wanting to have me go back to being crazy and share it with him. Nevertheless, I'm not going to give him that satisfaction.

"No," I say. "I was just about to go back in." With this, I locate my shoes and socks and walk back into the castle. I know I look like a fright, drenched and muddy, but I don't care – I just go my bathroom, take a long (and hot) shower, and come back out, reflecting on what I had just been through.

I conclude that dancing in the rain is fun. Dancing in the rain with James Potter, however, I have doubts about, even if I haven't tried it before.


	25. Laundry

_A/N: To my male readers - this is another slightly girl short, and you may not want to read it. Just warning you._

* * *

Laundry.

Ugh; how I hate it. It's so tedious – a thankless cycle of putting in and sorting out, which is necessary to do unless clean clothes are undesired.

With a sigh, I put my freshly laundered clothes into my basket to take to my dormitory. I need to go upstairs and finish some work that I have been procrastinating, and laundry is not my first choice of activity.

When I have all of my things together, I am about to leave when James Potter enters with his own laundry.

"Hey Lily," he says brightly, much to my discontent.

"Bye, James." I walk away without another word; James is so stubborn, and I don't see why he doesn't understand my sarcasm or less-than-subtle hints.

I sort out all of my clothes and count to make sure I have everything. I then realize that I'm one bra short. I frown; where could it be? I check through my pile of garments, but it is nowhere to be found. I look everywhere, but the bra isn't there. Frustrated, I put away everything else, but keep trying to think where it might be.

A few minutes later, a highly red-faced James knocks on my door. I allow him in and he is holding a pink bra in his hand.

"Is this yours? I found it on the ground in the laundry room," he tells me. I see immediately that it is indeed my own, and I blush as red as he is.

"Yes. Thank you." I snatch the bra from him and shut the door in his face before I can take another look at him.

Being a girl can be the worst thing in the world sometimes.


	26. Singing

_A/N: Woo! I'm on a roll with these shorts lately! Ha, they're so much fun to write - and they're so short too, and that just makes everything better. XD So anyway, the more romantic ones will be coming a bit later, so sit tight and watch them argue for now. :)_

* * *

I'm not having a good day.

I'm annoyed, I'm tired, and I'm ready to go to bed, but I can't, because I have so much bloody homework to get to before I give into my inevitable slumber. I sit in the common room, trying to finish up to little success, when James Potter bounces by and sits down on the sofa next to me, muddy and equipped with his broomstick after Quidditch practice.

"Hey Lily!" he chirps brightly.

"Bye, James," I say irately.

"Do you want to go to Hogsmeade tonight?" he asks.

"No," I snap.

"Aww, you know you want to." He winks, but he must know that my answer is never going to change.

"No, I don't," I repeat. "Go away – I have homework to finish. Besides, if I went out with you, I'm sure I'd have the worst date of my life."

James takes a deep breath, seeming to give up and go away, but then he bursts out into song; "I'll take you dancin' every night until you're ready to drop, I'll kiss your sweet red cherry lips until you holler stop, every night I'll serenade you 'neath your window, if you need me just a-whistle and I won't need a shove, I'll hug you squeeze you tight as I can, it ain't gonna be no one-night stand, baby, if you'll give me all of your love," he sang at the top of his lungs, throwing his arms out dramatically and singing into his broomstick handle.

I groan and squeeze my eyes shut. "Stop singing. Please."

"I'll send you red roses by the dozen, I'll call you sweet little things like turtle dove, I'll whisper pretty things in your ear the kinda things a girl likes to hear, baby, if you'll give me all of your love," James goes on deafeningly.

"I actually like that song, so quit ruining it," I request, covering my ears as everyone in the common room begins to turn around and watch James sing to me.

"I'll bring you pounds and pounds of chocolate candy, to prove it's you that I've been thinking of, tear up all the pictures I own of every pretty girl I've ever known, baby, if you'll give me all of your love," James finishes, holding the last note out hideously as a few girls clap for him.

"James, I'm not going to love you, so will you leave me alone?" I say impatiently.

"I'll take you dancin –" he starts off once more, but I cut him off.

"No singing and no date. Ever. Any questions?" I give him one of my most malevolent glares – reserved just for him – but he somehow doesn't back down.

"Yes, I have one," he says. "Will you go to Hogsmeade with me tonight?"

"Ugh; no!" I've had enough; I take my bag of books and storm up to my dormitory, making my usual type of huffy exit. Geez…dancing with James Potter – could there be anything _worse_?

* * *

_A/N: Oh, and the song James was singing was Baby, If You'll Give All Your Love, by Elvis Presley._


	27. Stupid Apologies

_A/N: This is based on something that actually happened to one of my friends, and even though she'll kill me for posting this, here it is for your amusement. :)_

* * *

After the incident with the broom cupboard, Ainsley and I thought Sirius would learn his lesson and leave her alone.

It turns out we were extremely wrong.

In the morning, just before Transfiguration, Ainsley and I hang around by the classroom when Sirius appears, looking strangely somber.

"I'm really sorry about what I did," he says, his dark eyes seemingly sincere. "Shake on it?" He puts his hand out to her.

I can see conflict working the cogs on the side of Ainsley's head, but her good side wins out.

"Okay," she gives in, putting her hand into his.

Then, quick as anything, he grips her wrist, turns her so that her back is to him, and pulls her into a tight hug. I squeal with amusement, she screams bloody murder, and rams him hard with her shoe heel in a rather sensitive male spot. Sirius cries out in pain, Ainsley slaps him smartly across the face, making him fall, and tells him to go to hell; for her big finish, she strides off to the classroom without looking back.

"That wasn't smart," I remark to Sirius before leaving him, lying on the ground in agony, and joining a livid Ainsley inside. She looks about ready to commit murder when I walk in, to be honest.

"This. Means. War," she vows vengefully, her eyes flashing in a way that shows she means it one hundred and twenty percent.


	28. How Far?

"Lily?"

I groan, feeling cursed for the ten millionth time in the day. He had been calling me for the past ten minutes as I take the most ridiculously complicated routes I can devise around the castle to avoid him.

"Lily!"

He's seen me. Again. Time to speed up.

"LILY!"

James Potter finally catches up to me after shouting my name and sprinting to catch up to me. He then asks, "Why didn't you answer me? Didn't you hear me saying your name?"

"I did hear you, but I thought that if I didn't talk to you, you'd catch my drift," I say. "But really, the better question here is why I _would_ answer you."

"Well, because I need to know something," he says.

I sigh. "No James, you may not take me to Hogsmeade."

"I was _going_ to ask you that, but then I got a better question." He then stops me in the middle of the hall and pulls me aside, his eyes strangely intense. "And it's this – how far do you want me to go for you to treat me better than crap?"

I'm surprised – I hadn't expected this type of an inquiry. "I don't know," I say honestly, feeling my hostility mysteriously melt away on the spot.

"Get to know," he says seriously. He leaves at that point, and I am left to my own thoughts again. I'm startled to find that what he said is still ringing in my head.

How far _did_ I want him to go before he proved himself to me?

How far would I go to keep him away from me?

And – best yet – how far would we both go before one of us exploded and gave up?


	29. Modelling

_A/N: I know you don't know much about Ainsley's physical appearance, but just take Lily's word for what she says here. :) And, for the record, no, I'm not sexist – I just believe in girl power. You'll see why I say that when you finish the longest short I'll ever write (this one). :)_

After classes let out for the afternoon, I go to my dormitory and crash on my bed, exhausted for some reason. However, when I open my eyes long enough to see what is going on in my room, I gasp.

Ainsley, the girl who was beyond stunning but didn't care enough to show her beauty, is standing, uncharacteristically nervous, in front of me. Her straight black hair is down for once, framing her heart-shaped face, and her pale skin seems to glow when contrasted to her hair. Her large, soulful gray eyes have a heavy coat of eyeliner around them, which accents her long eyelashes, and there's even a layer of clear lip gloss on her mouth, something I've never seen present on her.

Her face isn't the only thing that has changed though; she is wearing small but effective hoop earrings in her ears, and is clad in tight black jeans and a black-and-white-polka-dot tube top, which is normally dubbed "too girly" for her. She is waiting for my opinion, but I am speechless for about two full minutes.

"You look amazing," I tell her honestly. "Why did you do it though?"

She smiles slightly, and blushes. "My mum sent me this stuff and told me to send her a few pictures back with all of it on. She's dating yet another stupid man and wants to show him her 'fashionable' daughter, which means I'm getting twenty pounds to do this."

I laugh – even if Ainsley's mother is single, she still enjoys dating and trying to impress everyone using her daughter. "I see. Well, you should do it more often – you look fantastic."

"No way," Ainsley says, looking down at herself with sincere disgust. "I hate it; this took me about an hour to do, since I skived off my last class. Besides, it'll only invite Sirius to make a move on me again, which would only ruin the rest of my life. That is, if I can live it out – I bet he gave me an STD that night, since he has so much sex all the time."

I smirk; the part about Sirius is true enough. "Do you want me to take the pictures for you?"

"Sure, but hurry," Ainsley says, tossing me her mother's camera. "I feel…unclean in all this shit."

This makes me smile – Ainsley isn't even remotely girly. "Of course." I position the camera and Ainsley stands awkwardly, waiting for the picture to snap. I lower it though, and I say, "You look too…stiff. Be a model."

"I hate pictures," Ainsley complains.

"Why? You're beautiful," I say.

Ainsley makes a face, but ignores my comment. "Tell me what to do for this."

"Be sexy," I tease her. "Entice."

Ainsley snorts; she is the last person in the world to entice a man. "You've got to be kidding me here."

"No, I'm not," I insist, realizing it would work. "Put a hand in your hair, mess it up a bit, and then stare out into space."

She does, and I manage to get a good picture. "Excellent," I say, giving her a thumbs-up. "Now we need a natural one…hmmm…do you remember the way Sirius looked when you slapped him the other day?"

"Oh yeah!" Ainsley bursts out laughing, and I snap a few pictures from various angles.

"There you go." I consider another angle. "Now think…innocent. Expressive. Easy on the eyes."

Ainsley turns on her beseeching charm, and I get a killer photograph of it. "Great," I say, handing back her camera. "Your mum is going to love these. You really are a good model."

She snorts as she puts the camera into a package. "Mhmm."

I know she's never going to believe me, so I just give it up then, and lay back on my bed. Ainsley finishes washing all the make-up off her face, changes back into her Hogwarts robes, and falls on her bed as well. We lay there in silence for a little while, tired and lethargic, but when I am just about to drift off to sleep, Ainsley announces:

"You know what? One day, I'm going to take over the world, and when I do, no girl shall ever have to worry about the way she looks and there will be no such things as models. And, most importantly, I am going to lock the cute boys up in cages for girls to gawk at all day and put the rest of them in jail unless they swear to feed me chocolate covered pretzels and fan me all day."

I snicker. "You enjoy yourself Ainsley," I say sleepily.

But, as I start to sleep, I find myself realizing that if Ainsley really tries, she could do exactly what she told me she would. That is a pretty scary thought.


	30. Cookie Batter

_A/N: Probably one of my favorite shorts in this story so far. Enjoy. :)_

Normally I don't do this, but today, I feel hungry, and I decide to be a little different for once in my life. Ainsley is always ragging on me for it – I might as well live a story to amuse her with.

I am in the Hogwarts kitchens, and I am baking chocolate chip cookies.

My materials are spread out around me, and I am making them from scratch, something I used to enjoy doing at home with my mother when I was younger. As I am mixing everything in a large bowl, I hear the door open. Scared that a teacher is ready to catch me and give me detention, I drop my spoon, but I find it is only James Potter, looking for a midday snack. He smiles widely when he sees me, but somehow, I can't find the capability to snap at him and kick him out of the room.

"Hey Lily," he says amiably. "What are you doing?"

"Making cookies," I tell him.

"Really?" James examines an egg I have not yet cracked and put into my mixture. "Are they chocolate chip?"

"Going to be," I admit.

"Excellent," he says. "Those are my favorite." He halts briefly, but then says, "You know, Lil, you're like a chocolate chip cookie to me."

"I am?" This is a new analogy – one he hasn't used on me yet.

"Yeah," he says. "I mean, being with you is always a treat, and you're made up of all the essential things in life." He holds up the egg he had been scrutinizing. "For example, eggs. They're half life, half death – half of me lives to see you, but the other half dies when I'm not with you."

I stay silent, so he picks up the flour. "Flour – its light and easy to associate with. Well, fairly easy anyway."

He then shows me the sugar. "Sugar – sweet, and absolutely beautiful when you take the time to look."

James subsequently gestures to the bottle of oil. "Oil – makes anything tasty and is addicting, no matter how much you _should _stay away from it."

Then he points at the sink. "Water – that's necessary for everyone, and absolutely unavoidable. And –" a pause for effect "– of course, what can we do without the chocolate chips? I mean, the mixture is all right without them, but the chocolate is the pizzazz – the beauty of the cookie. The part that sets it apart from every other cookie in the world." He smiles at me as he pops a chocolate chip in his mouth. "They fill you up, and are widely acknowledged as happy food."

I take a minute to absorb all of the things he said about me, and I am astonished to find myself flattered. "T-thank you," I stammer. "I suppose."

"You're welcome." James eats three more chocolate chips before slickly exiting the kitchens, and I wave my wand to magically bake the cookies, deep in thought.

Was I really that "essential" to him?


	31. Fruit For Thought

At breakfast in the morning, Ainsley and I sit at our table, placidly talking and eating together. However, during our oh-so-intellectual conversation (revolving around the uses of Muggle cell phones), we are interrupted by bursts of raucous laughter, which rather aggravates us.

"Can you just shut the hell up?" Ainsley requests irritably, glaring at the group sitting around James Potter who are making so much noise.

"'Orange' you finding my jokes funny?" James asks innocently, grinning rather wickedly as he holds up an orange.

Ainsley rolls her eyes. "Get some better jokes Potter."

"My jokes are 'grape,' Ainsley," James says, eating a grape while laughing at his own lame gag.

"Jump in a hole," I snap.

"Aww, Lily, you're the apple of my eye – 'ketchup' with the news," James says, smiling at me. "We make such a great 'pair.'" He takes a bite of the corresponding fruits, utterly pleased with himself.

"You know, Potter," I say, my voice sweetly cutting. "Ainsley and I think that you are a 'berry' annoying pea-brain; 'lettuce' tell you that you really need to get a ripe old life, located in aisle seven."

"They're only a few Sickles," Ainsley adds helpfully.

James beams as he hears the fruit jokes, but when he understands the meaning, the smile fades. Me and Ainsley high-five each other and leave, but, for the very first time, I feel a twinge of regret. Still, I decide to silence it – I just gave him some great fruit for thought, and I don't want to waste the moment on something as silly as…was it regret?


	32. Moonlight Surprises

Ainsley and I are taking an evening walk tonight, talking and enjoying the sweet smell of honeysuckle in the muggy air, when suddenly, she stops me abruptly in mid-step.

"Wait," she says, craning her neck to look at something across the lake.

"What?" I crane my neck as well, and look in the direction she's staring in. My eyes bug out with astonishment, and I breathe, "Oh my."

For, across the lake, we see James Potter, standing and stretching without his shirt on.

He had evidently been taking a swim, and was toweling himself dry. I fond my mouth half open as I watch him; his hair looks lush and healthy with water forcing it to lie flat for once, and his skin is nearly surreal during this hour of darkness. However, what draws my attention the most is his chest – his firm, muscled chest that could've been chiseled from the most beautiful marble available.

Kudos to whoever gave him his gorgeous genetics.

I didn't really expect to be so fascinated or engrossed by him, but he almost looked sexy tonight – I never thought I'd think he was attractive at all. Normally I would have tried to shield my eyes, but this time, I just can't make myself look away. I'm nearly scared by this sudden change in emotion; what is wrong with me?!

Ainsley seems to be thinking along the same lines, because she whispers in my ear, "I never thought I'd say this, but damn that boy looks good without a shirt!"


	33. Exam Scores

In Charms, Professor Flitwick insists upon James and I doing an in-class assignment together as partners, since we sit near each other and he wants us to 'work out our differences.' James is, of course, thrilled, but my level of happiness is significantly below his. I am slightly bothered to find that it is a little higher than it usually is though – I don't know why I'm not as angry as I usually would be.

When we are nearly done with the work (which was pretty easy), James has a question. "Lily, what do you have to write for question six?"

I look it over and find myself befuddled. "I have no idea – go ask Flitwick."

James shrugs and goes to ask Flitwick, as requested. I watch him talk to Flitwick, look completely disgruntled, and then stomp back to me while the teacher laughs away.

"What happened?" I ask.

"He said he'd answer if I told him my last exam score," James mutters.

"What did you get?"

"It was the only exam I ever failed!" James bursts out.

I laugh, but not as cruelly as I might have, say, a few weeks ago. "I got a hundred – I'll ask." I get up and do just that, and I come back to him a few minutes later, grinning.

"What's the answer then? It's been killing me," James says.

"The answer is that there _is_ no answer," I inform him. "We weren't supposed to do that one."

I smirk while James groans; he is such an idiot.


	34. Beauty

I really do hate my hair.

It's red, thick, and very, _very_ frizzy. Not only that, but my eyes are too watery, my skin is too dry, and my entire body is generally too thin – not wispy, willow thin, but the sickly thin that makes people wonder if I have an eating disorder.

I complain about this to Ainsley in front of the common room mirror, and she is scornful of my self-aggravation.

"You're a pretty girl, Lils – relax," she insists while hating her own jealousy-invoking pin straight hair.

"I'm not," I say crossly, glaring at my reflection. "I'm not pretty at all."

"Not pretty?" James comes over to us immediately when he hears me say this. "You don't think you're pretty?"

"My hair looks like it's been electrocuted," I wail, giving up on it as I turn to face him.

"Well, when I see your eyes light up and your smile appears, it'll always be the prettiest thing I'll ever see." He grins crookedly at me, but somehow, I find myself incapable of strangling him for it. Despite that though, I have nothing to say to him, so I just go back to fussing over the way I look. James slinks back to his friends, but that doesn't stop Ainsley from whispering six words into my ear:

"He's in love with you, Lily."


	35. Unpredictability

Just after class lets out for the day, I approach Professor McGonagall for a few questions about our homework. Unfortunately, she takes a lot longer to answer them than I thought she would, so I go back to the common room about half an hour after everyone else. However, when I enter, there is a big crowd around the center, where I find Ainsley and Sirius shouting at each other. Ainsley looks rather distraught, but Sirius looks pretty livid. I find Alice Longbottom nearby and I ask what is going on.

"Sirius asked Ainsley why she was always trying to reject him and Ainsley slapped him," Alice tells me in a low voice. "Sirius got mad at her for it, and that's all I could understand, because then it all just escalated from there."

I bite my lip; when Ainsley is fuming, it's never a good situation. I watch tentatively as Ainsley calls Sirius a stupid-ass bastard at the top of her lungs.

"You know, that's the most irritating thing about you," Sirius yells at her, angrier than I had ever seen him before. "You think you're so tough and so fantastic that you can just swear at people and have them listen to you. You're so damn proud and have this impression that you're too good for everyone you know – that's why nobody bloody likes you; because in your little 'girl power' spats, you just look like the low-down bitch that you are."

That causes utter silence – Ainsley is frozen in place, and I realize that no one has ever told her off that way before. I can actually see her back down, upset. She's trying to hold up, just because it's part of the reputation she has been honing for ages, but it's hard for her as Sirius glares her down. We had both been blind to the fact that Sirius, while being a prick, did have a knack for getting right at people's foils and picking on them in the most lethal way that could be devised; that seems to be the downfall of this fight.

Once Sirius very slightly lowers his position, I gather my wits long enough to try rescuing the situation, seeing as everyone else is too shocked to do a thing. "C'mon Ainsley," I say, taking her wrist and trying to take her up to the dormitory.

"NO," she finally bursts out. "Sirius, just fuck off and _never_ talk to me again, you got that? I may be a bitch, but at least I'll never be _your_ bitch." She takes a small ornament from the side table and chucks it at him; sheer fury perfects her aim and it hits Sirius smack in the middle of his chest. Then she just runs up the stairs by herself, refusing to let me near her. I follow her anyway though, and when I find her in her bathroom, I'm shocked to see her crying.

In the years I've known her, I have never seen Ainsley cry.

I edge over to her cautiously, unsure of how I will be received. "Ainsley?" I say her name hesitantly.

She turns to me, her eyes red.

"Are you all right?" I ask gently, putting my hand on her shoulder.

She nods and wipes her eyes. With a sniff, she says, "Yeah, I'm fine. Sirius just got to me, that's all."

"Do you want to tell me why you were arguing?"

Ainsley shakes her head and exhales shakily. "No. Not yet. I…I don't know what happened, really. I just said what I normally say to people to get them off my back, and then you saw what he said back. I wasn't prepared for it. I'll be okay."

I smile slightly; being resilient and trying to convince everyone she's okay when she might not be is just built into Ainsley's nature. "You sure?"

"Yes." She gives me a small grin to prove it. "He's not going to get under my skin, Lils; I'm too strong for that. Sirius just a desperate arse who doesn't know how to take care of himself, so he tries to pick on people who can."

I laugh – true, that. "Of course. But are you _positive _you're okay? I've never seen you cry before."

Ainsley wipes away the last of her tears and gives me a real smile. "Well, don't get used to it, because it's not happening again." She playfully smacks my shoulder and goes downstairs to show all the Gryffindors that she's not upset. I take out my bag to begin my homework, highly amused.

That Ainsley…she truly is a mess of unpredictable contradictions.


	36. Crayons

_A/N: Wow...for a series of shorts that I wrote out of sheer writing-desperation, I'm really, really enjoying these, and I'm even more surprised that you all are too! Ha! Don't you love it when people/stories surprise you like that? Well…enjoy this one too, even though it's one of the strangest things I've ever written. :) I adore you all – really, I do, and I hope you know that._

* * *

Since the latest Sirius incident, Ainsley has been avoiding him as much as he can. I find this strange, seeing as normally, she would annoy him more just because she could, but I don't say anything – Ainsley has been acting really weird lately, and I decide it's easier to not question someone as impulsive as she is. 

However, I'm particularly scared when I walk into the dormitory after bidding all of my friends good-bye for the Christmas holidays.

Why?

Oh, I don't know…maybe it had something to do with the fact that Ainsley was sitting next to a cauldron that had melting crayons in it.

"What are you doing?" I inquire in disbelief as I sit on my bed, trying to take in the sight I'm seeing.

"Seeing how long it takes me to melt crayons," Ainsley explains as though I'm stupid. "What else would I be doing when most of the school is out for Christmas vacation?"

"I don't know, maybe doing your holiday homework?" I suggest.

Ainsley laughs heartily. "You're hysterical, Lils – that was a good one."

I roll my eyes and peer with distaste to the crayon slop in her cauldron. "But seriously – why are you melting crayons?"

"It's fun," Ainsley explains. "And I want to give this to Sirius for Christmas; inside it, I was thinking of putting in bobutuber pus and maggots from the greenhouses." Her laugh turns evil as she tells me her plan.

I figure it's safer not to ask her any more about her experiment, so I go to my bed and start on my holiday homework. Ainsley continues to melt her crayons, and when she is finished, the area of the room she used is completely covered in crayon paper and bits of wax. Pleased with her concoction, she puts it on a thin layer of foil, which she puts into a box. The box is wrapped prettily with a card saying Sirius's name on it. For extra effect, Ainsley sprays it with hideous cologne she bought three years ago for such gifts – I swear she should take Divination, because she's crazy talented at guessing when she'll need things.

When Ainsley is finished with her exquisite present, she slides the box under her bed to send to Sirius on Christmas Day, and she grins at me.

"I think he'll love it," she tells me happily.

"I'm sure he will," I agree dryly as I turn a page in my book.

Satisfied, Ainsley magically cleans up her part of the room and I chuckle quietly to myself; if she forgets to send the gift to Sirius later, I make a mental note to do it myself.


	37. Dying

_A/N: This is another weird short, but I'm posting it because it'll help you understand what'll happen a bit later – I've actually started some planning for this fic, and I know what I'm going to do with it now, so this is more for character development than anything. Just letting you know._

* * *

Its late afternoon, and I have spent the entire day so far outside, enjoying the snow.

I know the school isn't here, and that there's no one to snowball fight with or anything, but I like it anyway – call me weird, but it's a lot of fun for me to just walk around the lake in the snow, bundled in all my winter gear, singing Christmas songs to no one in particular. I don't get to do that often, and I take advantage of every moment I can get, and I'm considerably happier for it.

When I go back inside, however, I find someone who is exactly the opposite.

Ainsley is lying on the dormitory floor, her hair fanned out all over the place, wearing nothing but plaid shorts and a sports bra. Her clothes are strewn across the lamps and beds, and she is breathing very heavily. I walk over to her, anxious; with Ainsley, I can never know what I'm in for each hour, let alone each day.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"No," she says.

"What happened?" Sometimes, when she's like this, it takes a few patient, over-obvious questions to get Ainsley to admit whatever is ailing her.

"I don't know." She turns her head to look at me. "I think I died today, Lils."

"Why?"

She shrugs and closes her eyes. "I threw up three times while you were out, and I didn't eat anything out of nausea. I had a bit of a fit as well, as you can see from all of my stuff being everywhere."

"Is there anything you want to talk about?" I sit down next to her.

She sighs. "I don't know what I'm feeling, so no, there's nothing to talk about. All I know is that I'm sick, I'm hurting, and I'm dying."

"What kind of a sick are you?" I ask her. "Is it that you have a stomach bug, or is it an emotional sickness?"

"Both," she says. "I feel something so raw in the pit of my stomach that it kills me. I don't know why it's there or what's causing it, but I need something. I also need to know what that something is so that I can bloody take it."

I nod, still uncomprehending. "I see. Well, if you understand it, then let me know, all right?"

"Sure," Ainsley says moodily, blowing a strand of her hair out of her face. "See you."

I leave the room moderately troubled; I adore her, but my best friend is probably one of the strangest people to walk the earth.


	38. Christmas Morning

After a few lazy weeks of doing nothing but useless, winter-related relaxation activities, Christmas morning rolls around; when I awake this morning, Ainsley is already ripping open her presents, wild as anything.

"Calm down Ainsley," I say, yawning and rubbing my eyes. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Lily!" Ainsley jumps up and hugs me tightly before going back to her gifts.

Ainsley is always sugar-high on Christmas because she wakes up at four in the morning every year and steals as many Christmas cookies and cakes as she can from the kitchens; her behavior tells me that this year is no different.

However, opening presents sounds like fun – I go ahead and begin on my pile as well. I get a few books I'd been wanting from my parents and even a card from Petunia, which contained five pence. It's an improvement from last year – last year, she sent me an old hairbrush. However, there is a package I don't recognize in the middle of my heap; who can it be from? I open it curiously, full of wonderment, and when I get to the gift, I yelp.

It's a perfume that I saw in a shop once for more than a hundred pounds.

How on earth had the buyer afforded it? How on earth did he/she know I'd been dreaming about it since I saw it?

I went straight for the card, hoping to see who it was from, and I want to die when I see it's from James Potter – he had included a cheerful, brightly colored card that just screamed his name out to me. I can't believe it; I don't know how on earth I'm supposed to thank him.

Ainsley peers over and squeals. "It's that perfume!" she hollers, snatching it from me. "Let me see!"

I have no choice but to let her look it over, admiring it. "Who gave it to you?" she demands.

"James," I say, my tone expressing the bewilderment I am feeling.

"He's so in love with you!" Ainsley nearly explodes into a million pieces upon saying this.

I sigh. "I don't know how I'm going to live this on down. How did he know?"

"Because he loves you," Ainsley clarifies.

"Why did he spend so much?" I speculate aloud, ignoring her.

"Because he loves you," Ainsley tells me again, a little more forcefully.

"I don't even know why he does these things," I say, now aggravated. "He annoys me incessantly when he's in school, and then he sends me things like this! Does he live to confuse me or something?"

"It's because he loves you!" Ainsley bellows into my face. "Get it into your thick skull, Lily – he loves you, and you love him back. Secretly."

I roll my eyes, trying to act flippant as I put away the perfume. "Did you send Sirius your present?"

"Yes, I did." Ainsley cackles. "Let's see what I got back." She takes out a small cardboard box that I know Sirius must have sent to her. She opens it carefully so that it doesn't fall apart, and she looks inside. I look inside with her, and we both stare in silence for a moment.

In the box are a single red rose, and a white card.

Ainsley reads the card, and when she's done, she gives it to me. I find two words written in Sirius's dreadful scrawl.

_I'm sorry._

I look into Ainsley's face to see her reaction. Her face is tender and exposed for a second, and I can see she's sorry too, for sending such a mean gift. For the first time, I see confusion on her face, as she struggles to decide how to respond; I'm glad to see it, purely for the reason that it shows that underneath the tough-girl act, Ainsley has a heart.

But, all this is only for a second.

When she sees me watching her, her face turns defiant, and she bursts out angrily, "Damn you, Sirius Black, why do you perplex me so bloody much?!"

I have an answer – one she gives me without fail when I ask such questions – but I don't say it. I just smirk; the moment had been nice while it lasted.


	39. Razors

After winter break, Sirius and James arrived back to school, and since that time, they have not said a thing about Christmas. It's weird; I expected Sirius to come right out and call Ainsley something rude because of her present or for James to endlessly ask me if I liked what he got me. They didn't, for which we were grateful, but a little scared nonetheless.

This morning then, just after breakfast, I am walking out of the Great Hall, humming some song, when I find James looking rather worried. I try to skirt around him, but it doesn't work; he catches my arm and pulls me over to him.

"Lily, do you think I'll get in trouble for having a Muggle electronic in the castle?" he asks me.

"Erm, it depends – what do you have?" I counter.

"A razor," James tells me.

"Why would you have one of those?" I'm quite mystified, and though I probably don't want to know the answer, I ask the question anyway.

"Sirius left his at my house over break when he slept over and I have to give it back to him," he says matter-of-factly.

My eyebrows rise and I stifle a rupture of hysterical laughter. "Sirius slept over at your house over the break?" Somehow, it was only okay for girls to do it without sounding…well…

"Yes, he did." James doesn't seem to understand why I find this so comical. "Why?"

"No reason." My giggling becomes audible as I walk away, but I don't quite care – it was his fault for telling me Sirius slept over!

I recall the incident for Ainsley when we are coming out of our first class, just in passing, and she, unlike me, doesn't bother trying to disguise her amusement, even though James is nearby.

"Hilarious!" Ainsley wipes the tears from her eyes, and then calls out to James, "So Jamesie, how was it having ickle Sirius over for the break?"

"Fine," James says, confused. "He comes over every break."

This makes me crack up freely, but Ainsley just about loses her sanity with that one. "Sounds…kinky," she says wickedly. Then she speeds up our pace before James has time to work out what she had implied; it's best not to be present for that part.

-x x x-

Later, at lunch time while we eat, Ainsley all but kidnaps Remus Lupin on his way into the Great Hall and takes him aside. I come along as well, just to see what she has to condemn poor, gentle Remus to, and possibly save him if she gets over-interrogative.

"Is it true that Sirius slept over at James's house over the break?" Ainsley asks, the words barely intelligible for all the breaks she has to take for hilarity.

"Yes, it is," Remus confirms, which puts us into a royal madness. Remus, in contrast to his dim-witted friends, understands exactly what we find so humorous, and says disapprovingly, "Now, Lily, Ainsley, it's nothing like that," he says. "They're just two male friends that simply desired a night in the other's house."

Ainsley is perilously close to not breathing, and I have tears pouring down my cheeks. Remus seems to realize that what he has said did not help his cause, because he adds hastily, "They're not gay, you must know that."

Ainsley and I don't say anything more – we try to regulate our breathing as we walk away from him.

"Oh Merlin," Ainsley weeps, holding onto her side, which presumably has a stitch in it. "I knew it, I knew it all along. Now I have proof!"

I smirk. "And all these years, both of them have gone after us…all they needed was each other, I guess."

"Figures," Ainsley agrees with a snort.

As we continue to move to our next class, I know we are both thinking the same thing: what utter _morons_.

* * *

_A/N: Just for the record, eww, no, I don't ship James and Sirius – this was all in fun, and was not meant to imply anything otherwise. Hope you liked it. :)_


	40. Considerations

Things had been going so well between me, Sirius, James, and Ainsley – no mentions of Christmas, no flirting, not much conversation. I really had been enjoying it – I really thought that it was all going to blow over.

I'm dealing with James and Sirius though; of course I'm going to be wrong when I say they're capable of being good people.

Today, Sirius went heavy on flirtation with Ainsley throughout the day. Like the practiced rejecter that she is, Ainsley gladly turned down every stupid attempt he made, and managed to keep him at bay. However, despite this, he keeps trying, just like before. Ainsley had had it with him during Potions; she threw a bottle of tentacles at him out of sheer frustration, earning her a detention and a knowing smirk from Sirius, neither of which she liked.

So, tonight, I'm surprised when she addresses the matter differently while I study and she slacks off.

"Lily, can I ask you something?" Ainsley requests.

"Sure." I look up from my book and wait for her to speak.

"What do you call it when you think you now someone, but then they totally go back on everything for a moment that's just long enough to make you wonder but too short to actually matter?" she inquires.

I consider, stumped. "I don't know. Utterly retarded?"

Ainsley is thoughtful. "Perhaps."

"Why? Who are you thinking about?" I quire.

"Sirius," Ainsley says, not bothering to play the convoluted word games like I would have. "I overheard him talking to James about me today, and I thought I saw something like genuine concern on his face."

"It's Sirius – the only thing he'd be genuinely concerned about would be the world's female population decreasing," I point out.

"True," Ainsley agrees, laughing. "It doesn't matter – I probably imagined it."

"Right." I go right back to my book, but of course Ainsley has one more thing to say.

"Lily, I swear it, I'm going to kill Sirius one of these days, just because he can't tell me exactly what I want to hear, which is that he'll leave me alone. Suck on that, Black."


	41. Soccer & Skating

On Saturday morning, while everyone in the Gryffindor common room is lounging about and contributing nothing of consequence to society, I express my regret to Ainsley about missing a Muggle ice skating competition, my favorite sport to watch.

However, while I lament, James overhears me and, of course, interrupts the conversation.

"Ice skating?" He snorts. "What a prissy sport – soccer, now that's a _real_ Muggle sport."

"What do you mean?" I demand. "Ice skating is not _prissy_!"

"What I mean is that ice skaters wear tiny dresses and twirl on ice all day," James explains. "Soccer players have to be all muscle – the sport is vicious."

"And skating isn't?" I ask indignantly. "Seriously James – skaters psychologically murder each other if they're not busy trying to trip each other up physically. Not only that, but there is so much artistry and endurance involved; I think it's much harder than soccer."

"No way," James disagrees.

"Then I'd like to see _you_ lift your leg all the way up to make a ninety degree angle with the ground or leap feet into the air while spinning," I say scornfully. "Soccer players are not at all flexible."

"Well, they're more durable than skaters," he counters. "Soccer players get bashed up a lot and they never complain."

"Skaters get penalized and scorned if they get bashed up!" I cry. "They're by themselves up there – every mistake is on them and them alone. Soccer players get to depend on each other for help, making it somewhat easier; even when they fall, they get applause for being brave. But with ice skating, you have to be graceful and poised with difficult moves, no help, and no sympathy from the fans. Image is everything, and once that's shattered, you can no longer skate."

James remains silent, but then says, "Okay, fine, ice skating is harder."

Surprised by his quick step-down from the argument, I say, "Yes, it is, and don't you forget it."

James shrugs and walks away, since Sirius is busy in a monologue of jokes for a few people and he wants to join in, but I'm still confused; James is capable of quarrelling the hind leg off a donkey, so why hasn't he done it with me? I ask Ainsley about it, and she gives me a variation of her favorite answer:

"It's his way of humoring you and letting you win – he's in love with you!"


	42. Grand Pianos

Right now, the commodity in Gryffindor House is the large grand piano in the center of the common room.

I don't see why people are so obsessed, really – it's just a piano, yet every minute of every day, a boy or a girl will be seated with his or her current boyfriend/girlfriend and laying some gushy love song.

It's sick.

In the evening, Ainsley is reading her book and I am working, both of us trying to ignore the mostly-hideous piano playing going on around us. Gryffindors are nice people, but they are pretty much tone deaf.

However, eventually, James sits at the piano and calls out, "Lily, this is for you."

I look up simply out of reflex, and James's fingers go loose on the ivory keys.

Since he is an athlete, James's fingers are lean and strong, but they are surprisingly gentle as they strike the wood – there is a special tenderness to his playing, and I find myself mesmerized with both the style and the rise/fall of the notes. The melody he is playing is so heart-achingly beautiful and wistful that it hurts me – I am not a musical person, but I do know how to appreciate it.

When he finishes, everyone in the common room claps, but I am close to tears.

Since James has proven himself to be a fantastic piano player, there are five million requests for popular songs, so I'm not able to say anything about how he has touched me; however, I do watch him play very carefully. In the other songs, his fingers, though sure of themselves, are not as delicate when they hit the piano; they are boisterous and lively instead. How does he do that? How does he change himself so effortlessly and so completely? It's bewildering.

While I brood over this for much longer than I should, Ainsley looks at me with pure delight. "Lily, he is the nicest guy on Earth! Did you love what he played for you? Don't you dare tell me you didn't love it."

I think about lying, but I don't. "It was gorgeous; I adored," I admit. She looks ready to say something I won't like, so I'm hasty in adding, "But I don't like _him_, I just like his playing."

Ainsley shakes her head. "Of course you don't like him – you _love_ him."

I shake my head as well; Ainsley is so hopeless.


	43. Love & Fairytales

When I wake up on Sunday morning, I distinguish the sound of paper ripping and crumpling.

This is rather odd, considering I'm in my dormitory and nothing should be crumpling up or ripped as constantly as I can hear it, but I open my eyes and take a look around the room. It doesn't take me long to figure out that the source of the noise is Ainsley; she is ripping out pages of books, crumpling them, and then throwing them against the wall, looking upset.

"Ainsley, what are you doing?" I ask her with a yawn.

"This," Ainsley answers viciously, chucking yet another ball of paper over her head.

"Yes, I do know that, thank you, but why are you doing it?" I try to look at the book she is demolishing, and I see it's a book of fairytales.

"It's a book of lies," Ainsley says brutally. "Love sucks ass, Lily, and I hate how it's always portrayed positively. Love is not a neat little spread where everything works! It's a bloody _disease_." She begins to stomp on a few loose pages to emphasize her point.

I nod slowly. "I see."

"No, you don't!" Ainsley rages, throwing the entire, empty book at the wall, making a huge thud. "Nobody sees it! They say they do, but if asked what they want the most, it'll be something about having someone loving them, I can bet you anything. It's so _stupid_. Who needs love?"

"Everyone," I say. "I mean, love does suck ass, I agree with you, but if you find the right person, then it's a nice thing to have. It's just that finding the right person is nearly impossible."

"It's not nice," Ainsley argues. "Everything about it is horrible. Love hurts."

"And how do you know that?" I inquire.

"I just _do_," Ainsley snaps. "Love is rarely ever real; boys are shallow and girls are obsessive, so it doesn't work. You break hearts, your heart is broken – it's just a cycle of pain ranging from mild to unbearable. Of course, if you read a fairytale, it'll tell you that the first one you fall in love is the perfect soulmate for the rest of your life, so it looks like it's a good thing, but it really isn't. Fairytales are lies and people's idea of the perfect fantasy."

My eyebrows are raised by the end of this rant. "Ainsley, while you're right about love hardly ever being real and about it being a cycle of pain, it can also be the best thing that ever happens to you."

"It isn't," she insists angrily, still stomping on book pages. "Love is awful. I hate love, and if it ever comes and curses me, I swear I'll commit suicide or something."

"Ooh, what a Romeo and Juliet thing to do," I say, just to annoy her.

Ainsley looks ready to pull her hair out; unlike me, she despises Romeo and Juliet, claiming it to be boring, unrealistic, and impossible to fully understand unless you're some kind of creepy bookworm with too much time on your hands. "Do NOT compare me to that hideous play," she shouts. "I hate love!"

"Whatever you say." Still exhausted, I yawn and make my way downstairs to breakfast, fairly amused.

With Ainsley, I wake up to a different world and a different mood every day, and today was one of the many that just made everything around me unaccountably funnier.


	44. Growing Up

_A/N: It's kind of hard, sliding Ainsley into maturity (since she can sometimes be very immature), but I'm trying. I hope this one isn't too mushy. :)_

* * *

In the afternoon, I look around for Ainsley; I hadn't been able to talk to her for most of the morning, and I liked talking to her. When I finish searching the dormitory and the common room for her, I check the broom cupboard, just in case, but she's not in there. Thank goodness.

I go out to the grounds, by the lake, and I spot Ainsley sitting in the tree, her arms wrapped around her knees, looking moodily at the water while blowing strands of hair out of her face. She is wearing shorts, despite it being freezing outside, and her long, appropriately thin legs look strange in the scene of snow outside. She's also wearing only a skimpy t-shirt; I wonder how she hasn't got hypothermia yet.

Fully bundled up in my winter coat and boots, I climb up the tree and sit on the branch next to hers. "Hey," I say softly. "How are you?"

"Okay I guess." She sighs and rubs her arms with her hands. "Just out here thinking."

I'm not surprised; Ainsley moves through life so quickly that she likes to take a day to simply sit and think about it. Not that she does it often – she doesn't – but there are times when she does. "How's that working for you?" I ask her anyway.

"All right." She turns to look at me, her eyes murky with emotion. "Lily, I don't know what I'm doing anymore."

"Really?" It's a stark statement coming from a girl who always likes to crash around doing whatever she wanted all the time. "How do you mean?"

"I don't even know," Ainsley says, laying her head on my shoulder. "This morning, Sirius told me I was beautiful, and when I said to go away, he told me that I should relax. Relax. How am I supposed to relax more than I already am? Then I realized that he meant my demeanor; he thinks I'm too harsh! Am I harsh?"

"Sometimes," I confess. "But it's who you are – he can't seem to accept that."

"I don't know though – see, that's what I mean," Ainsley says, her voice saddened. "How do I change my entire personality to something…better?"

I feel the softness of her hair, and I hear the softness in the way she's talking to me. "Ainsley, you're fine the way you are. If someone wants you to change, are they really worth it?"

"Still, I want to be liked," she says. "People are afraid of me or they hate me for being so unsympathetic. Am I that unpleasant?"

I've never seen her so insecure – it kind of scares me. "No, you're not," I assure her. "You're a lovely person, Ainsley, and if you weren't, I'd tell you."

She sighs again. "You're probably right."

Something clicks in my brain then; I don't know how it took me so long to figure it out. "Ainsley, are you in love with Sirius?"

Her head snaps right up, horrified. "Of course I'm not."

"Well, then when he told you he thought you were harsh, why did you care so much? People have told you that for years," I point out.

Ainsley has no answer; she just pouts and looks troubled, which implies conformity to my question. She waits a minute, but says, "Everything's different now. Convoluted. I know I'll be fine in a few hours, but right now, life just feels complicated."

"We're growing up, Ainsley," I say. "It's an uphill battle for a few years, but after that, it'll be okay."

"I guess." She exhales noisily, most likely from the cold. "I think we should go in now."

"Good point." I smile at her and we climb down the tree together. I give Ainsley my coat, since she's ready to ice over and I'm not, and we walk in, my arm around her. Secretly, I'm glad that Ainsley's having these kinds of issues – I'd always wondered how she would be when she started seeing past her silly stereotypes, and now I know.

She seems to be worried at the moment, but I believe her when she says she'll be okay in a few hours; she's just that type of person, no matter what she's going through. That's something we both know will never change.


	45. Trust

In Charms, Professor Flitwick unveils one of his latest theories of being a good witch or wizard when in the Ministry working with a team of Aurors – trust.

"You need to be able to trust the people you work with," he squeaks. "If not, the entire group is doomed; even if you have personal differences that you don't wish to work out, you _must_ be able to have a blanket of trust over you."

Ainsley and I exchange looks that clearly express our revulsion; we have people in mind that we'd never like to work with.

"For example," he continues. "Lily and James."

"What?" James and I say the word at the same time, but his tone is curious while mine is mildly outraged.

"You need to trust each other," Flitwick says. "Come here."

James and I go to the front of the room, unsure, to many giggles. Ainsley gives me a wink and a wide smile as I go; I make a mental note to kill her later.

When we reach the front, Flitwick asks, "You know what a trust fall is, don't you?"

We nod.

I want you to do a trust fall to one another, right now," he orders.

I groan, but not as loud as I could have because of the people around me. James, in complete and utter contrast, looks delighted and is quick to say, "I trust you, Lily – will you catch me?"

"Yes, I will," I say reluctantly.

He prepares to fall and I prepare to catch him – he's all muscle, making him heavy on my arms, which he has referred to as noodles on more than one occasion.

He goes back and I manage to stay up with all his weight on me without buckling over – I congratulate myself for it. He stands up and beams at me, insisting upon a high five, which I give grudgingly for the amusement of the class, Ainsley in particular.

"Nice job, Lily!" James congratulates me. "Now it's your turn."

"You'd better not drop me," I warn him.

"Of course I won't," James assures me. "Come on – it's easy, just leave everything to me."

While I do not think that would be the best option for the situation, I don't say it; instead, I close my eyes and allow myself to freefall into nothingness. To my intense surprise, James's arms are there to catch me, though they feel more like bricks than anything else. Probably all that Quaffle throwing. I open my eyes and I find everyone staring at me; with good reason, too, since I would never do this on my own free will. Ainsley gives me a thumbs-up and winks at me.

I make a mental note to kill her later.

James lets me get up then, and says, "See, Lil? I caught you – I'm sure that's enough to make you trust me."

I ignore him and ask Flitwick, "Are we done?"

"Yes," he answers with a sigh, openly disappointed that I show so little enthusiasm in his exercise.

I bounce back to my seat next to Ainsley, and she tells me a few words that I thought I could forget, but can't – "He's always been there, ready to catch you when you fall, Lily; are you really so blind that you can't see that?"


	46. How to Save a Life

During Charms, I am eating a muffin.

I know I'm not supposed to, but I'm extremely hungry – I was late this morning, and had no time to eat breakfast. Flitwick doesn't see me, assuming I'm being a good student as always; I feel bad, but not bad enough to stop eating.

I feel like such a sinner.

However, in the middle of my meal, some idiot person says something that is unfairly funny, and it makes me laugh…so consequently, I begin to choke on my muffin.

It's silent choking though – I just can't breathe. Nobody sees me, and I'm too alarmed by the fact that I'm choking to catch anyone's attention. I can feel my lungs start to crave oxygen, but I can't do anything about it – I can only wonder how I'm going to keep myself alive.

When my vision starts to blur, that's when I wave my arms in the air, trying to show that I'm quite literally dying. The class is just as panicked as I am, and simply freak out and scream, "Lily's choking!"

Way to spot the obvious.

What surprises me, however, is that James is the one who leaps forward, picks me up, puts his fist in my stomach, and heaves. I spit out my muffin, but all I can think about is how close James is to me, and how incredibly muscular he is; if he wanted to, he could've killed me with a single blow to the head. It's weird, having him right on my back with his hands on my stomach while I'm dying in his arms, but I can't say anything – he's trying to save my life so that I _don't_ die in his arms.

I try to breathe again, but the shock of the situation is too big; there are black spots on the edges of my vision, and I can feel that I'm close to passing out. To try helping me, James lays me across his desk while the class crowds around and watches with mixed fretfulness and interest, and before anything else registers, I feel a pair of warm lips press hard on my own to force my demented lungs to breath oxygen. The moment I'm going back to normal, that pressure goes away and I open my eyes. Everyone around me is giggling, and I realize with a jolt that James just saved my life by doing mouth-to-mouth.

Oh dear God, no.

I sit up on his desk, facing my silent audience, and clear my throat.

"T-thank you, James," I stutter as I go to my own seat.

James nods passively, his emotions (whatever they may be) perfectly hidden, and within a few minutes, the class starts to get back to Professor Flitwick. I don't though; I lightly touch my lips, startled by the sweet tingling still upon them. Then I attempt to forget about all of it, with little success and much disgust.

No! I can _not_ like James Potter's mouth so much!

No! I can _not _keep thinking about him the way I am!

And, finally, NO; I'm _NOT_ in love with him!


	47. A Thousand Miles

_A/N: This short is just an ode to the song, A Thousand Miles, by the supremely talented Vanessa Carlton. I love it and I wanted to use it - so I wrote this. That's all._

* * *

As I walk down the corridor, I start to hum my beloved song. It's such a gorgeous melody – I never get tired of it, no matter how many times I listen to it.

"If I could fall into the sky, do you think time would pass us by?" I sing quietly to myself. "'Cuz you know I'd walk a thousand miles if I could just see you tonight."

All of a sudden, James Potter appears by my side, intrigued. "Who are you talking about?" he asks.

"It's a song," I explain. "One of my favorites."

"Well, if it's your favorite, it must remind of you someone," he tells me. "Who?"

I hadn't thought about that. "No one really," I say honestly. "I just adore the tune…and, if I did have that special guy I loved, I know I'd walk a thousand miles to see him."

"You don't have to go a thousand miles to see him." James throws his hands out exaggeratedly. "I'm right here."

I smirk. "Lovely. Can you please leave me alone though?"

James sighs dramatically and leaves, but my sigh is almost wistful as I sing the last couple lines of the song to my mystery soulmate:

"You know I'd walk a thousand miles if I could just see you…if I could just hold you…tonight."


	48. Caring Ainsley Style

_A/N: I think this is one of my favorite shorts, simply because I actually did a bit of research for it, and because I feel it's one of my most honest ones yet. It didn't go at all the way I'd planned, but I think I like this version, even if it does take a huge leap in the middle to a fairly unrelated subject._

* * *

On Sunday morning, I open my eyes, and I see Ainsley throwing up violently on the dormitory floor. 

I gasp and jump out of my bed at once, forgetting how sleepy I am. "Ainsley!" I cry out.

Ainsley starts to cough, and I'm horrified to find tiny reddish brown flecks coming out of her mouth. I come over to her and hold her hair back, allowing her to finish vomiting at her own pace. She stops after a few minutes, and we stand over the pool of sick, me silent and Ainsley trying to desperately to breathe properly.

"Are you okay?" I ask gently.

She hiccups. "I don't know. I think I got Hemo-Sissy disease again."

I smirk; hemo-sissy disease is her affectionate term for hemoptysis, which she has always been prone to since she was younger. Essentially, it occurs when a person coughed up blood because of pneumonia or bronchitis; Ainsley never likes to wear her coat when she goes outside in the cold, which is why her lungs have become fairly sensitive and get sick easily. She had been outside not even a week ago, which is probably why she's ill.

"Ainsley, why are you so flippant about going out without something to cover you?" I ask her.

"I don't like it," she complains. "Besides, Hemo-Sissy doesn't bother me. Much."

I roll my eyes. "Why _did_ you do it though? You usually stay inside when you want time to think."

"Are you kidding? Sirius is such a stalker; the only way to get away from him would be to go outside," Ainsley clarifies for me. "Get it right, Lily."

"My apologies," I say sarcastically. "But you're never afraid of anyone – why Sirius?"

"I'm not _afraid_ of Sirius," Ainsley says. "I'm just repulsed by everything about him."

"So much so that he intrigues you?" I smile slyly; time to turn the tables here for once.

Ainsley looks ready to kill me; I'm reminded of the looks I shoot at her constantly. "No. I don't fall in love, remember? I hate it; it's for stories and people who aren't me."

I give her a squeeze on the shoulder. "There's someone out there for everyone – including you. Don't doubt that."

Ainsley shakes her head defiantly. "I'm too harsh, remember? Everything in the world is apparently wrong with me! I'm a bitch, I'm insensitive, I'm horrible, I'm this, and I'm that! I also get Hemo-Sissy disease all the time! We've all got faults, but let's go pick on Ainsley's, just because we know she won't care! Well, she _does_ care! Nobody likes her and she cares so much that she doesn't care!" She's getting into one of her random, hysterical, half-third-person rants again, but this one is different from the others – I think this, while exaggerated in places, is one of her most honest yet.

"How do you care so much that you don't care?" I ask, simply to keep her talking.

"Maybe I _want_ to fall in love!" she says loudly, her eyes more passionate than I've ever seen them. "Maybe I _want_ to find that guy everyone's promising I'll find one day! Maybe I'd like, for once in my life, to just settle down with someone I like, instead of making the mistake my bloody mother made, going through men faster than clothes because she's so desperate. Maybe all I want is to be different enough that I'll be noticed, but not so much that people are scared of me. Maybe I want to be pretty enough that boys will look at me, but not so much that I look like a show-off bitch." She sighs, biting her lip. "Maybe I want that stuff so much that I pretend that I don't care about any of it because it hurts so much."

Her speech troubles me; partly because even though it seems uncharacteristic for her, it explains everything about her, but also because, after all the time I've known her, I've only just gotten to the heart of who she is. I try reaching out to hug her, but she shakes her head and waves her wand quickly to clean up the vomit we'd both forgotten about.

"I'll see you later," she murmurs, slipping on a coat. "I need to be alone again in my tree."

I watch her leave the room and sit on my bed, concerned. What an outburst; I hadn't seen that one coming. My poor friend; what other things go through her mind that she conceals from me?

And, more importantly, will insane, out-of-control Ainsley ever be able to see that all she has to do is be more open about those buried desires she nurses to get everything she had wanted?


	49. Playing Matchmaker

After watching Ainsley collapse into a pile of mess before my very eyes, I decide I need to help her as much as I possibly can – even if it means talking to people that I normally wouldn't talk to.

That's why I approach James Potter at breakfast – the only reason why.

"James, can I talk to you?" I request. "It's important."

Before I can open my mouth to say anything else, he takes me to a private corner of the Great Hall, more than ready to listen to me. I find I rather like that.

"James, does Sirius honestly love Ainsley?" I ask. "You're his best friend – you would know."

"I think he does," James answers, though surprised by my question. "He talks about her a lot."

"Does he just say she's sexy like he says about every other girl?" In my book, that doesn't count as love – it counts as a shallow admiration.

"No," James says. "He does think she's sexy, but he also thinks that she's independent – she doesn't let life's little troubles get her down."

If only he knew the truth about that.

"So he does love her?" I ask one more time, just for confirmation.

"Yes, I think he does," he says. "For once, I agree with him – Ainsley seems nice. A bit snappish sometimes, but nice."

I remind myself to tell Ainsley this; it would probably make her feel a bit better. "She comes across as snappish, I know, but she isn't always like that," I say. "You just need to take the time to know her."

"He's trying, but Ainsley won't let him," James tells me. "That's what he says."

"He has to keep going at it," I say. "She can be a tough nut to crack, and if he really loves her, he'll continue to try."

"Why are we having this conversation, just out of curiosity?" James inquires.

"If you repeat any of this to anyone, I will murder you on a moment's notice, but I think Ainsley may like Sirius back," I say. "It's a long, complicated story, but Ainsley's nervous, and I need to make sure that she's not getting to a situation that's not worth it."

"That's nice of you," James says, smiling at me. "Does she know you're talking to me about it?"

"No," I admit. "But I needed to; I worry about her."

He nods. "I can understand that. Did I give you what you needed to know?"

"Yes, you did, thank you," I say, more courteously than I've ever spoken to him before.

"You're welcome." James's grin turns a bit sly. "How about you reward me for my troubles and let me take you to Hogsmeade?"

"How about no?" I suggest.

"I don't like that one," he protests. "Please? I told you things Sirius would kill me for saying."

"And I told you things Ainsley would kill me for saying," I say. "I stand by my original reply."

"We're both going to be dead soon, because our friends will find out – date me once before that," James says, expertly warping my innocent statement into something that could work for him.

I smirk and am about to turn him down, but then I get an idea. "If you can do me a few favors over the next several weeks, then yes, I will go out with you."

"What's the nature of these favors?" James wants to know.

"I'll keep you posted," I say airily. "Deal?"

"Of course." James shakes my hand on it, and with that, I go back to my dormitory and James goes back to the breakfast table. I smile to myself as I make my way up the stairs:

It's about time the matchmaker becomes the bride.


	50. Just Go Away

_A/N: Beware – this is a very long & weird short. About 960 words without the notes._

* * *

Operation Ainsley-Dating-Sirius (ADS) has officially begun. 

For this kick-off, I needed James's help; I asked him earlier in the day to bring Sirius over to me and Ainsley when we were in the common room working this evening, and because of the reward he may get later, he does.

Ainsley isn't pleased to see Sirius and James sit down beside us; she frowns and crinkles her nose. "What are _you_ doing here?" She could have been talking to a piece of dirt on her shoes the way she says this.

"Sitting," James answers before Sirius can snap a response. "What are _you_ doing, Ainsley?" He isn't being rude though – he's trying to be curious, but Ainsley doesn't see it this way; she sits back and pouts, openly unhappy.

"Don't be immature, Ainsley," I tell her. "They're not doing anything to you."

"Shouldn't you be whipping out your wand and screaming bloody murder, Lil? James is here," Ainsley retorts acidly.

James grins amusedly at this, not at all offended, but I give Ainsley a look. "I'm not, so you shouldn't be making faces. Sit nicely."

"Whatever," Ainsley mumbles under her breath as she sits up and continues to do her work.

"What's your problem?" Sirius bursts out angrily.

"You are," Ainsley shoots back at him. "Why are you sitting here anyway? Shouldn't you be out annoying someone who's not me?"

"Fair questions – James, why are we here?" He turns to look at James, who is obviously astonished this is already on him.

"Because I wanted to sit with Lily, and you have to stay with me," he says lamely.

Sirius gets up and storms away at that, thoroughly grumpy by the frank hostility he wasn't used to receiving from a girl, but when I look at Ainsley to see her reaction, she is biting her lip and looking regretful. That's something – normally, she'd be much happier by a departure like that, because that meant she had aggravated him.

My eyes go from Ainsley to James, who is watching me carefully. I sigh, upset by Ainsley's clam-like behavior, and say, "You don't have to stay."

"I want to," James says.

"Go away," Ainsley shouts at him unexpectedly.

"Ainsley," I say, trying to reprimand her. "Why are you acting like a five year old?"

"I want to," she tells me, her tone peevish.

I have no idea what to do with her, and James sees that. So, to try his hand at fixing the situation, he asks unpredictably gently, "Ainsley, what's the problem?"

"You," Ainsley says sullenly. "You're the problem. You and your bloody friend."

"What about the two of us is bothering you?"

Ainsley's eyes come up over the top of the book, big and childlike. "I don't know."

"Well, then why do you want us to go away?" I'm quite impressed – how did James learn to interrogate like that?

"I don't want you to go away anymore," Ainsley informs him. "You can stay if you want to." I get the feeling she's saying this just because she has no alternative reply, but it's better than letting her be a brat; I can't help but admire James for getting this out of her.

"Thank you, Ainsley," he says. "It's nice of you to let me stay. Can I get Sirius? Can he stay too?"

Ainsley considers this for a moment, but shakes her head. "No."

"Okay." James takes me by surprise and backs away, going back to his work as well. I look at Ainsley, and I find that she's gone back to what she was doing, perfectly normal once again; James smiles at me and I mouth a thank you to him. He shrugs, showing me it's no problem, but my sight lingers on him a little longer than usual – how did he learn female psychology that way? From what he's done to me before, I'd figured he knew none at all.

When I'm done with my work, Ainsley is aimlessly doodling on some parchment, looking young and vulnerable in her curled up position on the sofa in a baggy sweatshirt. I suggest that she goes upstairs and packs her things, and she does – there's something to her walk that hints at severe exhaustion though. I wonder why.

James is thinking the same thing, apparently. "What's up with Ainsley?"

"I don't know," I say sadly. "I just don't know." I leave him to join Ainsley upstairs, and as I observe her lying around on her bed, I question where the loud, funny, and self-governing Ainsley went. Is this her way of being in love? Is this her way of telling me something? What goes on behind those grey eyes that she doesn't tell me?

She sees me looking at her worriedly, and shows that she's read my face correctly by saying, "I'm fine, Lily. Tonight, I'm tired – I couldn't sleep last night. I know I'm being immature; you don't have to tell me. I promise I'll be happy tomorrow though."

"I hope so," I say. "Ainsley, is there anything you want to talk about? Why did you yell at Sirius?"

"There's nothing I want to talk about, and I yelled at Sirius because there's no other way to get rid of him," Ainsley says. "Any more questions?"

Of course I had more, but I say no and lie back on my own bed. After ten minutes of thinking about all the possibilities for Ainsley's bizarre performances, I glance at Ainsley herself and find her asleep already – she actually was sleep-deprived. I could bet anything it was because she was thinking about Sirius.

If only she was as open with me now about what's really getting to her as she used to be about hating boys – that would make life much, much easier.

* * *

_A/N: The reason Ainsley was being childish was because she was feeling lousy and didn't want company; when she feels like that, she lashes out like a little kid. She has a million and five moods that come out all the time – this was just a negative one. Just to let you know – this was a weird short for me to write and I wasn't sure if my intent was clear._


	51. Epiphanies

I've been watching Ainsley much closer than she would have expected lately, and what I see, unfortunately, still makes little sense.

After…recent events…Ainsley has reverted back to the carefree, fun-loving girl she was. She says obnoxious things, laughs as though the world is a colossal joke, and mercilessly puts down boys, just like she always did, but I found an obvious dissimilarity – she will _never_ talk about her feelings as candidly as she did a few times before.

I ask her about it as we prepare for bed. "Ainsley, are you okay?"

"Yeah, never better," she says dismissively. "Why?"

"You're different now," I say. "You were so unstable recently; what happened?"

"Oh, that." Ainsley chuckles. "I hit a rough patch – now I'm okay. I get that I was being stupid, and I'm over it. Don't worry so much about me – I can take care of myself."

"What about all of that stuff you said?" I ask in disbelief. "Caring so much that you don't?"

Ainsley puts her hand on my shoulder. "Lily, I had a weak moment. You know you have them too. I'm fine now, like I said. Guys no longer matter to me."

"Well, _there's_ a huge change in the wind," I grumble. "Why are you so damn weird about stuff like this?"

She smiles. "Because it's fun. And besides, I had an epiphany about this yesterday – I went through a stormy rain to get to the rainbow, where I am now."

"You are being so incredibly _stupid_!" I explode suddenly. "Ainsley, I know you're in love with Sirius – I had _that_ epiphany ages ago! You're in denial because it's easier for you to live with that conclusion than a conclusion saying you care about someone. Stop pretending that everything is dandy and fine when we both know it's not! It's okay to be like and it's okay to be confused! Just say it though; don't hide. You're not a robot – it's _good_ to feel something. Don't doubt that!"

I feel much better after I scream this speech at her, but Ainsley is motionless, her eyes tender once again. We stand there, facing each other, waiting for a reaction in tentative silence. Ainsley sighs after what seems to be eternity and says, very softly, "I don't love him."

"You do, Ainsley, you do, you do, you do." I grab onto her shoulders and shake her to emphasize my point. "You love him, and I like that, because it's about time that a boy caught your fancy."

"I don't love him," she says with more conviction. "I don't. Not at all. Sirius is an arse."

I sigh. "Tell me now or forever hold your peace – do you love him or do you not?"

This question serves a multitude of purposes:

1) If she says she loves him, well, she does!  
2) If she says she doesn't love him, she still does – I can tell  
3) If she takes too long to say no, she loves him  
4) If she takes too long to say yes, she adores him  
5) If she says no in a flirty way, she loves him  
6) If she says yes in a flirty way, she could ask him out the next day  
7) If she says no with a little too much force, she loves him  
8) If she says no with too little force, she loves him an abnormal amount

The Point: No matter what she answered, I would know she was in love with Sirius.

However, Ainsley says right away, with too much force, "No, I don't love Sirius." The response falls under purpose number eight – she loves him an abnormal amount. I knew it.

I nod and pretend to believe her, but when she looks away from me, I grin widely; in her own way, Ainsley had just told me that she was extraordinarily in love with Sirius, and I know instantaneously that Operation ADS had to continue full-steam ahead anyway.


	52. Studying

_A/N: Yes, I do know that Lily was a hypocrite in the last short. Just remember that detail though – it'll come in again. I also know that I need to get some fluff in here. It's coming – I've already written some of it. So enjoy this for now and we won't need any notes from me in the beginning reminding you that stuff is coming. :)_

* * *

I am drowning.

I am drowning in an avalanche, actually – an avalanche of work I don't understand that's going to be on a test first period. It's two in the morning and I'm still in the common room, surrounded by materials, trying to comprehend my Transfiguration notes. It's late, I'm exhausted, and I want to sleep.

Things aren't going well.

I let out a cry of agony into the silence as I fail to remember another fact, hating Professor McGonagall for challenging us so much. There's only so much a girl could handle. I'd be expected to get a perfect score, too, since I'm flawless Lily Evans, who gets nothing but perfect scores.

If only they could see flawless Lily Evans now.

I glare at my papers, willing them to somehow transfer the information written on them into my brain with a method that sticks.

No such luck.

I give up; I lay my head on my open book in defeat. I'm done. I'll fail. I don't care anymore.

However, at this moment, the portrait abruptly opens up, and in comes a guffawing James Potter, doubling up over some dumb joke. I lift my head up a little to give him a look of mixed bewilderment and annoyance; he sees me, hiccups, and says, "You don't want to know."

I nod, but I find his hiccup replaying in my head a few extra times; it's a startlingly cute hiccup. I blame over-studying for making me think that way.

"What are you doing?" he inquires.

"Transfiguration studying," I groan. "I've been at it for hours."

James wrinkles his nose. "The test is going to be a piece of cake – everything on it is so easy."

"Oh, yes, rub it in, why don't you?" I snap. I hate it when he gets something I don't.

"Do you want me to help you?"

I'm taken aback – I hadn't expected that. I hesitate though; I desperately need the help, but I don't know if I want it from _him_. He's James – nothing would be worse for me than admitting defeat and letting him clear things up for me. Still, the fact remains that I don't understand any of what I'm doing, and I have only six hours to do so; I have no choice but to demolish my pride by sighing and saying, "Please."

James sits down besides me and looks through my extremely minimal progress. Then he completely baffles me once more by throwing all of my carefully written notes into the fire.

"Why in the name of Merlin did you do that?" I stutter, weak with horror.

"Because you don't need any of it." James smiles at me. "If this is how you study, Lily, we have a lot of work to do."

-x x x-

Somewhere around four AM, I am finally familiar what Professor McGonagall is going to test us on.

James ended up making me play a game he calls Doodle Matching – I drew a picture for each part of a spell, he mixed them up for me, and I picked out which pictures went in which order for which incantation. I had to recite all of the correct parts as well, and if I missed something (which I did often), James would shake his head and I'd try again. If I got it wrong the second time, he would patiently explain what I should have done and have me try again.

I had to hand it to him – even if his techniques were bizarre and elementary, they worked.

When we are finished studying and I have successfully told him everything I needed to know, he smiles with relief. "I'm glad," he says to me when I tell him I'm ready. "You were a mess when I walked in."

"I was," I say fervently. "I'm going to do well on this test – I can feel it."

"Of course you are – you're Lily." James grins and puts his hand out to high-five me. I falter – do I want to? I decide I do; I owe him that much. He looks pleased by my choice, and we part ways for at least a couple of hours of sleep, satisfied – me because I know what I'm doing (at last) and James because I touched him in a way that didn't cause him pain.

I fall into bed right away, but strangely, I find that instead of thinking about my Transfiguration process the moment before my eyes close, I end up thinking about the time James's leg accidentally brushed by mine. The heat, the embarrassment, the sheer _oddity_ of the gesture – they are the things that carry me off into my slumber.

Is this normal?


	53. Errors in Dating

Watching Sirius and Ainsley hate each other when I know differently has really been killing me these past few days.

Ainsley is one of my closest friends – I love her like the sister I wish Petunia was. I want nothing but the best for her, and in this case, Sirius is the best thing for her. She likes him – the affection is there, and I can see it. It's in the way she glances at him in class when she thinks I can't see her, the way her cheeks go oh-so-slightly pink when he brushes by her, or the way she unconsciously starts to fiddle with her hair when he's addressing her. The subtleties – the things people don't care to look at – tell the whole story.

It also helps that Ainsley all but confessed her attraction to Sirius a few nights back, even if she didn't mean to.

So, I decide to go ahead to the next step – a date. I mean, how else are they going to get to know each other? For this though, James's cooperation was vital. I don't like having to ask for his help all the time, since it's kind of humiliating, but it's not for my cause – it's for Ainsley, who, in this case, is much more important than my pride. I find him in the corridors and I explain the plan on Friday; he is obligated to agree with me, and promises to do what I proposed.

On Saturday then, when Ainsley and I are in Hogsmeade, I insist upon going to The Three Broomsticks, telling her I'm hungry as I drag her in. She lets me, just because she's in a particularly agreeable mood, and I take her to the back of the restaurant.

James had said he would get Sirius a table on his own and put a Sticking Charm to his behind to keep him in place, and I find this he has kept his promise. I see an Ainsley-style storm start to develop, but all that does is make me haul her over more roughly, plop her onto the chair, and perform the Sticking Charm on her rear before she can explode. I take away her wand too – I don't want her to break through the charm.

Ainsley could have happily used an Unforgivable on me.

I skip off to the side James is at, pleased as they begin to discuss (rather fiercely) why they got where they were.

"Excellent," I whisper to him. "This may work!"

"And when it does, you and I are going to be the ones at that table together." James smiles impishly; he knows exactly what to say to make my blood boil.

"Yes, well, for now, I want to assist my best friend in ever way possible, and _you _will help _me_ do that – then we'll see about our date," I say shortly. "I think this will work for Ainsley and Sirius."

"Erm…" James's expression turns apologetic as he gestures to Sirius, who has taken out his wand, lifted the charms, and is arguing ferociously with Ainsley. I whip around to face James, and, my tone thunderous, I ask, "Did you take Sirius's wand away?"

James's uncomfortable fidgeting tells me that he has not.

I shove him in the shoulder, annoyed, and run out to Ainsley, who has already abandoned a livid Sirius and is glaring at me. I try to follow her, but she stalks away; I can see why, but that doesn't stop me from being indignant all the same.

She goes straight to the dormitory and hides in the bathroom from me – it's going to be about four hours before she will be able to even look at me after what I've done. I linger outside the door, frustrated; James has already gone elsewhere, so I can't kill him even though it's his fault the date didn't work, and Sirius is Merlin knows where. How had such a good idea gone so wrong?

This experience gives me only one conclusion to work with: I'm just going to have to try a little bit harder.


	54. Hypothetically Speaking

It seems that Ainsley has forgiven me for setting up the date for her and Sirius.

She has been talking to me normally, and if I try to say I'm sorry for the incident at The Three Broomsticks, she just waves her hand and tells me to forget about it. I have a feeling it's because she is not in the mood to throw a tantrum – we're both knee-deep in homework and have no time to do very much besides it. I suppose I'm thankful for that; it's not fun when Ainsley is mad at me.

This evening, we are working on a few questions for Potions class; I find them easy, since Potions is one of my best subjects, but Ainsley is struggling hugely on it. She has a constant flow of questions coming, which I answer to the best of my abilities, until she just gives up and throws her book in the corner.

"Ainsley, persevere," I say. "Finish."

"I'll ask Sluggy about it tomorrow," she says irritably. "I hate Potions."

"I like it," I say with a shrug.

"Well, I'm not the perfect ickle girlie who wants to suck up to the professor," Ainsley clarifies for me. "I'm normal; therefore, I despise it."

"A rather big generalization to make, wouldn't you say?" I point out tartly, miffed.

"I'm me," Ainsley says, as though this explains everything. "I'm allowed to."

I roll my eyes. "Very descriptive reasoning, Ainsley."

"Of course." She smiles angelically at me and takes her book out of her bag to read.

We stay silent for a little while before I decide to ask her, "Ainsley, why do you deny that you're in love with Sirius?"

"Because it's not true," she says. "I'm not in love with him. There's nothing to like."

"Well, let's pretend you like him," I say, hit with a sudden inspiration. "If you were to hypothetically like him, why would you?"

Ainsley stops reading mid-page, and mulls my question over. I am overjoyed when she finally responds in a nearly inaudible voice, "If I were to hypothetically like him, then one of the reasons might include the fact that he might hypothetically flatter me a lot."

I'm getting somewhere! "Why else?" I have to control my voice though; if I'm too excited, Ainsley will refuse to keep talking.

"He might also hypothetically be funny and interesting," she says. "He's always got a joke to tell."

"And?"

She takes a breath and blushes bright, cherry red. "Hypothetically, he might also be so sexy I can hardly breathe sometimes."

I hold back my laughter. "Anything else?"

"He might also see past what other people see." She pauses, but goes on, "I mean, I know it's _him_ and all, but sometimes I just get the feeling he knows something he won't tell anyone. It's like he understands how I'm feeling, even if he chooses not to humor me. He's not afraid to challenge me, like some people are, and I suppose I rather admire that about him." She half-smiles, lost in her own analysis, before she catches herself and says, "This is all hypothetical, of course – it doesn't mean I actually feel that way."

My face breaks into a grin. "Of course, Ainsley; this is always going to be a hypothetical conversation."

She smiles, but slyly as she quires, "Why do you love James then, Lily? Hypothetically?"

"How about we hypothetically don't go there," I say at once. "Hypothetically or not, I'm not in love with him."

Ainsley winks. "Of course you're not."

She's getting her revenge on me now since I interrogated her so much, and she's enjoying it quite a lot; her eyes are ablaze with naughtiness. I still stand my grand though. "I'm not in love with James Potter," I repeat.

"Not even hypothetically?" she wheedles.

"No, not even hypothetically," I say. "Sorry to burst your bubble."

"You're not sorry," she accuses.

I'm not, in this case, so I don't say anything to further anger her. Instead, I continue to finish the last of my Potions homework, deep in thought about my conversation with Ainsley. She's so in love with him; that's the big thing that came out of it. She detests it and is fairly ashamed of it, but the feeling is there, and she's told me about it, which I'm quite grateful for. It's not easy saying you're in love with the biggest jerk in the year.

So what am I going to do about it? I think I'm going to ease up on my operation to get them together. Ainsley's obviously still unsure about what she's going to do about him, and I don't want to push her into something she won't like. Sure, I'll encourage her to start a relationship, but I won't actually shove them together, even if I want to – very badly at that.

And, as an incentive, I won't have to work with James anymore!

Then all I'd have to do is tell him that, and reject him for the eight hundredth time when he asks for the date I promised.

Crap, crap, crap.

That's what I get for enlisting the help of a guy who has a puppy-love crush on me. Ainsley had better appreciate my efforts later down the line.


	55. Work Ethic

I have a test coming up in Charms soon, and I had to stay after classes ended in Flitwick's classroom to get a bit of help on it. I have countless questions to ask, since the topic we'd been covering was difficult, but when I'm done about an hour later, I feel a lot better. Flitwick, I think, was just glad to see me go – I never ask simple questions.

I reflect on the meeting with a smile to myself as I go up to the dormitory, but when I get there, I see the bathroom door open and Ainsley's brown head bent over the sink. Curious, I go into the bathroom to see what she's doing, and I'm horrified to find her squeezing an entire tube of toothpaste all over the counter.

"Ainsley, what are you doing?" I ask her in disbelief.

"This." She beams as she gives the tube another squeeze and points at what she's made.

It's a cylinder whose sides are made of circular paths of fresh toothpaste. It looks like a failed Muggle art project to me, but I don't say that – as an alternative, I say, "That's a big waste of perfectly good toothpaste."

"Remember that Recycling Charm Flitwick wants us to get right?" Ainsley is incredibly pleased with herself as she continues, "I'm practicing recycling the toothpaste I just destroyed."

"And if you can't get it right?" I'm worried for the dormitory's toothpaste supply now.

She throws me a filthy look. "Have a _little_ faith in me."

"I'm sorry," I try to backtrack. "Of course you can do it. It's just that…_toothpaste_?" I can't seem to get over the fact that Ainsley is using _toothpaste_ to help her practice for her test. Her methods are even stranger than James's.

"Haven't you always just wanted to squeeze an entire tube of toothpaste out? Simply for the fun of it?" she asks me dreamily.

"No," I tell her.

She rolls her eyes. "Well, you're boring. Normal people want to."

"Are you trying to say I'm not normal?"

If it had been me in her situation, I would've said no, I wasn't trying to imply that. But I'm talking to Ainsley here – Ainsley never says anything besides the truth. Well, most truths anyway.

"Yes, I am trying to say exactly that," she informs me. "You are utterly abnormal, Lily. Nobody works as much as you do – it's positively sickening."

"It's good for me," I say.

"In moderation, yes, it's good for you," she says. "Otherwise, it's just plain crazy."

"Thanks," I say mildly. "But you're too stubborn for your good – it's never in moderation. Doesn't that make you crazy too?"

"I'm not the one who denied I was crazy," Ainsley counters smartly. "I'm insane and proud of it. You're the one who starts freaking out if someone thinks you're not normal. Lighten up, Lil."

I bite my lip, offended for some reason. "What do you mean, lighten up?"

"Take today for example," she says. "You stayed an _hour_ extra to ask a teacher about information you already know. That's disgusting! Just look it all over the night before and you'll do fine. Go with your gut – that's my motto."

"I thought your motto was that most men are stupid," I say, confused.

"Well, that's my second motto," Ainsley amends. "My first one is to go with your gut."

I smirk. "All right. I'll lighten up…if you admit to me right now that you like Sirius."

Ainsley's eyebrows go straight up – I can see her struggling with her decision. She ends up saying (very sullenly), "Fine. Stay uptight."

I'm astonished; Ainsley has wanted me to lighten up for years, and she's missing her chance to make it happen just because she doesn't want to say that she doesn't like Sirius! She is even more in love with him than I thought.

I don't say anything about that though; I merely thank her and move on to my homework. Ainsley glowers at me for a minute or two, but she goes to working on her Recycling Charm as well, which she does without talking, for once.

And, for the record, she did master the charm – she recycled all of her toothpaste the first time.

I swear, I will never understand how that girl functions.


	56. Confession

It's been two long, painful weeks. Ainsley has no idea how much she's killing me.

Since our "hypothetical discussion," she's been changing. She's quieter now, and I don't know why. Well, I do, but she won't tell me herself – I have to infer. I don't like that; I worry about her.

I know she loves Sirius more than she wants to. She knows it. She's implied that she does like him quite heavily – it's not like she's stupid and doesn't realize anything. It's as if she's trying to live as two people – one who likes Sirius when she's alone and one who doesn't when she's around others. It's not working – she must know that – but she continues to try, and that's what's killing me so much. I hate watching her do it, since I've seen her at both sides of the spectrum; she's stumbled on something she doesn't understand and she's getting desperate, yet she hides it all.

I bring the matter up before bed. "Ainsley, are you really okay?" My voice is soft, but she still starts as though I've yelled the question in her ear.

"Of course; do I look like I'm not?"

"Yes, you do," I tell her honestly. "I can't stand it – what's the matter?"

Her arms wrap around her middle, protecting her, and her eyes become big and sad, like they do whenever I ask about such things. "Lil, have you ever tried to convince yourself about something you know isn't necessarily true, but everyone else sees through it anyway?"

"Somewhat; how do you mean?" I quire.

"Here's an example," she says. "You like eggs, but everybody thinks you don't because you don't know want them to know. Then, slowly, as they get to watch you closer, they see that you do like eggs, but you become the idiot trying to live up to the image you don't have. It's a wasted effort, but you do it anyway, even though it's stupid."

"So what's your wasted effort?" I inquire, keeping my tone gentle so that she doesn't hide under her blanket from me.

She sighs. "I might as well say it now, since you've known for a long time. I like Sirius. Are you happy now? I've said it. I'm completely in love with him and there's nothing I can do about it anymore. I'm going insane, Lil."

"You're not going insane," I say, trying to comfort her.

"I am!" Her eyes are as fierce as they were the night she told me she wanted to be in love, which tells me I'm in for something that will nonplus me. "I can't handle it anymore! Every time I look at him, I don't know what comes over me. I thought I could handle the feeling, but it's so damn strong these days – I can't. I never thought it would happen to me, but now all the things I never thought would happen are coming and I feel like I have no control." She falls on me in a frantic hug. "Save me, Lily."

I hug her back, nonplussed like I knew I would be. "Ainsley, relax, breathe. Take a deep breath with me. Come on, deep breath." I take one to demonstrate.

She catches my eye and tries to take a deep breath as well – it's shaky, but it's there. I take another, and so does she. We both breathe in sync a few times before I say, "Repeat the part about loving Sirius for me."

She gives me a reproachful look, so I explain, "Saying it a few times will help you get used to the idea. And I like to hear it. Say it – I love Sirius Black."

"I love Sirius Black," Ainsley whispers.

"Good." I smile encouragingly. "Say it again."

"I love Sirius Black," she says, her voice a tiny bit more audible.

"One more time," I cajole her.

"I love Sirius Bloody Black," she says loudly.

"Feel any better?"

Ainsley considers the possibility. "No; I feel worse." She walks to her bed and allows herself to fall face-forward onto it; she growls from inside her pillow and I can hear her shouting, "I hate him, he's dreadful."

I pull her off of the pillow and sit her down on her bed and say, "You told me that you loved him, Ainsley, and that's a big thing in itself. Stop freaking out. It's okay to be in love."

"I'm not capable of caring so much, so I don't know why I do," she wails. "Lily, what am I going to do?"

"First of all, you're going to stop whining," I say. "Secondly, you're going to take each day as it comes. You don't have to go for Sirius right away – take your time with it. I'm not going to try forcing you together like I did before because it's doing more harm than good. But do tell him, Ainsley – you know you should."

Ainsley bites her lip and puts her arms around her middle for the second time. "Okay. Maybe. But until I do tell him, can we just pretend I never told you I liked him? I don't want anyone else to know."

"Of course." I smile and put my hand on her shoulder. "I won't tell anyone."

"Thanks." She pulls me into an embrace, and when she feels my hold securing onto her, she relaxes considerably – I get chills thinking about that, because the Ainsley I made friends with a few years ago would be the one in control all time, and _I _would relax in _her_ arms. Now that I'm in control for once, it feels different – worse. It's like nothing in the world is right anymore.

I'll take the advice I gave Ainsley though – one day at a time, and we'll see how it goes.


	57. Human Nature

_A/N: I'm warning you now – Ainsley is going to be flopping back and forth from aching for love and detesting love from here on out. Don't be surprised if in one short she says she's in love and in the next one she's trying not to be.

* * *

_

Now that Ainsley has officially confirmed the information I've been after for such a long time, I'm ecstatic.

Of course, I can only be ecstatic in the privacy of the dormitory – I plan on keeping my word to Ainsley and never tell anyone unless she wants me to. However, when we're alone, I only make a big deal sometimes, when I really can't help myself at all.

"Ainsley, I'm so happy for you," I tell her, hugging her again.

"Why?" She makes a face. "Being in love is revolting. I feel so…helpless."

"How do you feel helpless?" I inquire.

She thinks about how best to phrase her situation to me. "You know how it is when you try to force two opposite ends of a magnet together; they go right away because that's how nature has made it, right?"

"Yeah," I say.

"And when you try to pull them back apart, it's possible, but you can still feel the magnets try to connect with each other, don't you?"

"Yes," I repeat.

"It's like that with me," she says. "I'm pulling myself away from Sirius, but something stronger than logic keeps me fighting to stay with him. I know I should stay away, but I can't stop my stomach from twisting up whenever he walks by me. I can't stop the fact that I'm hopelessly addicted to him." She makes a face. "Eww, those words should not be coming out of my mouth."

"It's good," I say encouragingly. "Ainsley, you are caring about someone! I'm so proud of you!"

"I don't want to care," she says with a pout. "I don't want to feel powerless to human nature; _I _want to be in control, not let something else control me. I hate being defenseless – I don't want to let anything get the better of me."

"There are certain things, like those magnets, that were just destined to be together," I say with a sigh. "You can't mess with what's destined to be – you can try, but it will never work. You can try your best to say that you don't give a shit, but you know you do. You can't lie to yourself. You do give a shit – you give a lot more than that – and you're only fighting a losing battle if you say that you don't."

"I'd rather die fighting that losing battle than succumb to destiny," she says valiantly. "I really would. Destiny has a bit of a challenge when it comes to me, Lil."

"Don't be stubborn," I say gently. "You have to know when to give up, Ainsley. This is nature we're talking about – it never makes sense, and you just have to go with it."

She shakes her head. "I may be in love, but that doesn't mean I'm going to do anything about it. I'm too independent to need a boy; I'm going to be perfectly fine without Sirius."

I really do want to cry on her behalf. "Ainsley, please don't give me a reason to kill you," I request.

She smiles at me. "Lily, love is so bloody overrated. I know that first hand. It's so strong and so crazy-making; I'm not really the type of person to let myself get mixed up in it. They've always said love is a roller coaster ride – I'm not getting in line for this one."

She leaves the dormitory and I flop back on my bed, utterly frustrated.

Why does Ainsley have to be so damn paradoxical about everything?


	58. Vulnerability

_A/N: You wanted LJ, you're getting LJ. However, this is not a particularly happy LJ, just to let you know. Sorry for the overload of angst lately, but I need to get this out there before I move on to slightly happier topics. Hope you like this though.

* * *

_

At about midnight, I go downstairs to the kitchens, half-asleep, because I need a snack. I get hungry in the middle of the night sometimes – I've been sneaking down for something to eat at around this time since I was six years old.

I pad down the Entrance Hall, yawning, when I hear someone trying to conceal desperate weeping. I wonder who it can be – they sound devastated. Forgetting about my appetite, I cautiously go towards the source of the noise, and light my wand to get a better view. I nearly scream when I see its James.

I never thought I'd see the day when James's eyes were red and puffy, his face was flushed, and sobs were coming out of his flirting-proficient mouth. My very soul melted at the sight and sound – I have never seen him so vulnerable. I completely forget my routine hatred of him as I sit beside him and lightly touch his shoulder to acknowledge my presence.

He looks up as though he's seen a ghost, startled. "Lily?"

"Are you all right? What happened?" is all I want to know. It must be bad, if it makes the almighty James Potter cry.

James attempts to wipe his eyes, but I lay a hand on his to stop him and repeat my questions. He can't believe what I've done, but he says in a shaky, would-be calm voice, "My mum died a few hours ago."

I'm incredibly close to my own mum, and I can't imagine losing her; out of instinct, I hug him tightly, and to my great surprise, he hugs me back, and I find I actually kind of like the feel of our bodies together that way.

It is now that I grow conscious to the fact that I've never hugged him before.

After he lets go of me, he smiles slightly. "Thanks, Lil."

I smile slightly back, a bit awkward all of a sudden. "I'm going for a snack – want to come?" I know I normally wouldn't do that, but I'm going anyway, and I don't feel right just leaving him there now that I'm one of the first people to know what's going on.

He nods gratefully, and we silently go down to the kitchens for a cup of cocoa and marshmallows. We sip wordlessly, the atmosphere thick with intensity, and occasionally, we catch the other's eyes. James's were despondent and somber to start with, but as time passes, they become lighter – he likes having cocoa with me, I can tell. I find that I rather like it as well – no flirting, no pressure; just me and him sitting quietly together. We have never done that before.

When we finish, James and I stand up and get ready to go back to bed. I try to avoid his gaze, but he grabs my wrist and says, "Thanks again, Lily."

"It's fine," I say. "I-I'm sorry about your mum."

He says nothing, but his eyes are sadder than ever, so I turn around and go up to my dormitory, reflecting on the hour or so I had just spent. It just seems…surreal to me; I never would have done it on any other night. I also can't identify what's going on in the pit of my stomach – is it pity, or is it something else? I can't be sure. I make heads or tails of any of my feelings tonight – it's so befuddling.

I don't like being befuddled.

I think that's one of the reasons I was willing to be with James tonight and not otherwise – usually, he said weird things that I didn't know how to respond to. But this time, there was none of that, and I was thankful for it. The simplicity and serenity of having cocoa after a tragic event has a certain beauty to it, and it is because of this beauty I can go to sleep feeling like a different person – a better, more understanding person than I thought I could be.

The last thought I have before I'm successfully asleep is that I truly am sorry for every horrible thing I'd said about James in the past few years.

* * *

_A/N: I felt it important to add here that Lily will not be at all sorry in the next few shorts, because this isn't going to make James mushy in any way at all. Just to let you know._


	59. Makeover

_A/N: The sole exception to my under-thousand-word rule since I like it as is.

* * *

_

When I'm not thinking about James and how well he's been doing, considering recent events, I've been thinking long and hard about what I want to do to help Ainsley without making things infinitely worse for her and Sirius. I can't do anything about James (Sirius has that part covered – not well, but covered nonetheless), but I do know what I can do about Ainsley.

On a particularly gray Monday morning, I wake to my alarm three hours before usual. I look around the dormitory room at all the still-sleeping girls, trying not to follow their examples and snooze for a bit longer, and I pad out of bed, yawning. As always, Ainsley is snuggled beneath the covers like a mole; it takes me a good half-hour to coax her out of bed, which she does not appreciate.

"What?" she grumbles as I take her to the bathroom.

"Today, I'm giving you a makeover, whether or not you like it or not," I announce. "C'mere."

"No," Ainsley bleats, rubbing her eyes. "I'm not going to let you!"

"Yes, you are," I say, seating her on a chair I'd already set up for her the night before. "It's about time you start looking like a girl"

Truthfully, the real reason is because I want Sirius to rue the day he got on her bad side, but I'm not about to tell her that; armed with Muggle styling products and Sleakeazy's Hair Potion, I begin to work some real magic.

-x x x-

It is nearly time to go for first period, but Ainsley refuses to go because she insists that if she does, her reputation is going to be corrupted.

I don't know what she's talking about; she cleans up amazingly. Ainsley is a very pretty girl, don't get me wrong, but with the right stylist (me), she can surpass the beauty of any girl in England.

To put it in the simplest terms that do her no justice, I put enormous silver hoop earrings in Ainsley's ears, curled her stick-straight hair, refined her eyebrows a little, put eyeliner and mascara around her vast eyes, forced some subtle lipstick on her, and bullied her into borrowing one of my best shirts.

Let me say, she looked better in my stuff than I myself did.

I admire her as I try to convince her to come to class looking the way she did. "You look _incredible_, Ainsley; _please_ keep it on," I plead.

"No," she shouts. "I won't! Look at me, Lily; this is not the type of girl that I am."

In a way, she's right; I wouldn't have known it was Ainsley if I hadn't done the makeover myself.

"But that's the point," I say anyway. "You're not supposed to look like you – you're supposed to look different, but in a good way, and you do. You look fantastic; did you take a good stare in the mirror?"

"I did, and I hated myself," she says, wrinkling her nose. "You've made me into the type of person I swore never to become. Can I wipe all of this off now and change into my own clothes?"

I can't let her do that; I want to make Sirius take notice of her! Besides, she is absolutely gorgeous, now that I've made her care about her appearance; she can't waste the time and effort I put into the look. "No, you can't," I say. "Just wear this today, and tomorrow, you can wear what you want. Deal?"

"Fine," Ainsley grumbles. "But you owe me big time."

"I just made you look better than every supermodel in England," I remind her smugly. "_You_ owe _me_."

-x x x-

In first period, nobody can believe Ainsley's transformation.

When we walk in the room about ten minutes early, the boys' mouths drop, just like I'd hoped. Immediately, Sirius is the first to say, "Lily, who's the new girl?" He looks Ainsley up and down as though he's never seen anything quite like her.

Which, of course, he hasn't.

Ainsley is angry though; she growls, "I'm _Ainsley_, you moron. You already know me. Unfortunately."

Sirius's eyebrows go all the way up and his mouth drops like the rest of them. "_Ainsley_?"

"Yes," she confirms, glaring at him.

"You actually look like a girl," he says, impressed.

This offends Ainsley more than it would if someone else had said it; her eyes become suspiciously shiny and she bites her lip. I think she might shout profanities, but she doesn't; instead, she smashes her heel into Sirius's leg, making him yell with pain, and huffs out of the room before I can stop her.

Of course I follow, and she runs to a bathroom, where she starts scrubbing all of the makeup from her face. When she sees me, she looks ready to commit murder and then sit in a corner for a few hours, but she doesn't say anything. I walk over to her, and I see that she is shaking with emotions she won't want to share with me. There's only one thing I can do.

I take a napkin and dab at her face, removing the lipstick and eye makeup.

She can't believe I'm assisting her cause now, but she's not complaining – in silence, we both change her back into the Ainsley we know and love.

When she's normal once more, we go back to the classroom, barely on time for the lesson. We sit down, and the second we do, Sirius comes right over, anxious.

"Ainsley, I'm sorry," he says at once before I can make him go away. "Really, I am."

Ainsley flicks her wand and gives him boils across his face.

"Forgive me?"

Ainsley mutates his feet into tentacles.

"At least _say_ something."

Ainsley turns his ears magenta.

Sirius stumbles away to his seat then, obviously fearing any further abuse from her, but the moment he's gone, she burrows her face into my shoulder and moans, "He's so deprived of common sense, so why do I love him so much?"

I wish I can answer, but I can't; there is no real reply to her question. Why? Because love doesn't really have a reason. It just is.


	60. Fools & Fingernails

During Charms, I'm forced to work with James.

Again.

We're learning a new spell today, and Flitwick wants us in partners. It's his mission to get us to be friends or something, because the moment I try to work with Ainsley, I'm told to work with James instead. James has no objection – he bounds right over – leaving Ainsley to try rebuffing Sirius's attempts at working with her. All of his tries don't work, even though they would have if he was trying to convince anyone else; Ainsley is the undisputed master of stubbornness.

However, I can't oblige her to do anything; I have to focus on keeping James on task and not trying to let myself hurt him. It was getting easier these days, probably because of my amazing self-control, but that didn't mean I didn't get those familiar impulses incessantly.

"Okay, so how do we do this again?" James asks me, wrinkling his nose like he always does when he's mystified. He, Ainsley, and Sirius all have a bad habit of doing that, I've noticed.

"Like this," I say with a sigh, reaching for his wrist to show him the right movement. However, I stop, only because I've seen the state of his fingernails.

They are hideous – there is no other way to put it.

James is a nail-biter; they're bitten down roughly all the way down to the tender pink spot. What little he has left there is caked with dirt and grime, and I find myself repulsed beyond all imagination.

"James, what have you done to your nails?" I inquire in spite of myself, trying not to cringe.

He examines them, somehow unperturbed to the atrociousness he is staring at. "Nothing really. Just a lot of Quidditch."

"Are you a biter?" I ask.

"Yes." He laughs. "I can't stop biting them. It's awful. My mum used to tell me that I wouldn't be able to keep nails if I kept doing that, and then girls wouldn't like me. It worked…until I came here and saw that all fingernails are filthy as a rule."

I'm astonished that he can talk so easily about such matters, but when I take a closer look, I see that something has shut down behind the clear hazel front of his eyes, and he's faking his nonchalance. He's a good actor; I have to give him that. I decide not to say anything though – I just grimace and say, "Well, they're not looking very nice. Don't bite them."

"Anything for you, my Lily flower," he says flirtatiously, fluttering his eyelashes at me.

He has tremendously long eyelashes, I notice. They're almost feminine in their length, but they're so damn _dazzling_. How had I never thought about them?

I try to ignore them though, as I say, "Yes, well, let's get to this charm then, shall we?"

"Sure." He puts his hand instinctively to the book, trying to look at the page, but my hand was already in the place where he put it; we are touching. I look at him, panicked, and he looks back at me, and we immediately take our hands away, blushing. It's so awkward – I start babbling about the spell we should be learning, trying to avoid any more physical contact. James, just as embarrassed as me (for once), allows me to, seeing as he has nothing better to say.

However, as I go on my long, useless tangent, the back of my mind – the part that always contradicts what I think I know – starts thinking about that meeting of our hands. How warm it was. How soft. How, even though his fingernails are filthy, they feel incredibly wonderful against my skin. It's sick, disgusting, despicable, and guilt-making in every way known to man, but it's what I'm doing.

I am forced to conclude, during this time, that nature hates me.

Class ends very soon afterwards, and I have done little work to master the charm. James gets it, of course, so he has no homework – I'm not so lucky, because I, unlike him, actually have to try to achieve good results. I complain about this to Ainsley as we walk out, and she listens sympathetically – we despise the fact that Sirius and James can slack, procrastinate, and not care, yet still do very well in school. I bring up my theory about nature hating me during the conversation, but Ainsley shakes her head at me.

"No, Lily," she says. "Nature hates _me_."

"Why?" I ask.

She smacks my head. "Are you lacking brain cells today? Have you already forgotten who I inconveniently like right now?"

"I'm sorry," I say. "I guess we're nature's fools together then. Yippee."

Ainsley raises her fist gloomily. "Yippee."

We enter our Transfiguration classroom, our moods quite dampened by the Charms work we'd been doing. It doesn't help, either, that McGonagall has a particularly difficult lesson set up for the day, which James understands right away, because he's so bloody _perfect_ when we have authority figures who can take away Quidditch rights in the room.

Indeed, Ainsley and I are nature's fools.


	61. Rainbow

Finally, it's a sunny day.

After several weeks of rain, fog, and general gloom, there is a small opening of sunshine in the clouds, which is a relief. Even better, it's a Sunday, so I can go outside and spend my day by the lake. Ainsley wants to come with me, but unfortunately for her, she had been procrastinating a large pile of homework that needed to get done, and was forced to stay indoors because of that. I didn't want to waste a nice day though, so I leave her, grumbling and moaning, in the Gryffindor common room.

I lay beneath my favorite beech tree with my book, in utter bliss. Sunshine and free time! Simple as it seems, I'm grateful to the point of deliriousness for it – I don't get breaks like this often.

I look around me, and I see a light, faded rainbow lingering in the distance. Passive as I am when in this type of situation, I enjoy the sight, completely at peace. Light can be so gorgeous. However, after very little time to wind down, my vision is blocked by a certain James Potter.

"Hey Lily." Uninvited but comfortable nonetheless, he sits beside me.

I smirk at him and continue to stare at the rainbow, somehow unsure if I want him there or not. "Hey James."

He looks in the direction I'm looking in myself, and sees the sight that captured my attention. A soft smile comes to his face.

"Rainbows," he says. "They remind me of you, Lil."

It appears as though everything in the world reminds him of me, but for once, I hold my tongue and let him continue, "I know it's weird, but I always think of you." He gestures to the colors barely visible in the sky. "Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and violet. I never count indigo, because it's just like purple. They're six colors for six reasons why I love you."

I look curiously at him, and, hoping I don't sound weird, I ask, "Care to specify?"

He nods happily, as though he was waiting for me to say those three words together. "Sure. Red, for that blush that comes to your cheeks when I mortify you."

"You like it when I blush?"

He smiles. "Yes, I do."

I'm astonished, but he goes on, "Orange, for the bright shade of your hair which I adore so much."

"My hair is more reddish-brown," I say. "Not orange."

"Not in the sun," James says. "Like right now – it's the exact color of that part in the rainbow."

"You're so colorblind," I say.

"Go with me here," he requests. "And yellow, for the caution you always show around me."

"I'm not cautious around you," I argue hotly.

"You are." His smile is patient. "I can tell, and it's okay." Ignoring my efforts to interrupt and row further, he says, "Then there's green, the color of life. There's always life to you, Lily – there's always a twinkle in your eye, a leap in your step."

I keep back the impulse to laugh; yeah, right. Everyone thought I was a happy little girl all the time, when in reality, I wasn't. Not all the time. He should talk to Ainsley about it some time – she'd give him the dirty details on me any day.

"Blue," he carries on, unaware of what I'm thinking about. "Blue for ice and cold. You're gracious to everyone on the planet, except me – I'm one of the few you show your icy side to."

I try to find a case against his claim, but I can't. Great. I close my mouth and let him go on to the color purple. "It signifies royalty," James says. "That one's pretty self-explanatory – you'll forever redefine royalty to me."

I find myself smiling a little bit. "Thanks. I guess."

He laughs. "No problem. Enjoy the weather." At long, long last, he gets up and goes to find Sirius, and I am allowed to enjoy my book and the rainbow in peace.

Or so I'd thought.

It turns out that instead of reading my book for a few hours like I'd wanted, I spend the time lying back on the bark of the tree and thinking. About what? James, of course. I can't stop contemplating what he meant by the color analogies. Was he trying to give me some kind of a message? Was he mocking me? What did it all mean?

An hour or so later of trying to figure it out, I'm much more frustrated than soothed. I think I'm losing my mind, since I'm stewing over a few words from James when I can be reading instead; it's beyond maddening. As I work on a theory that could actually be a potential answer though, I can hear that annoying voice that sounds so much like Ainsley's whispering one awful phrase in the back of my mind:

"Maybe it means just what he implied most dominantly – he loves you."

I shut the Ainsley part of me up. He doesn't love _me_ – he just loves to _annoy_ me. There is a difference, and it's that difference that keeps my mind obsessively working instead of letting me stare at simplistic things like rainbows.

Life sucks, I hypothesize, and James Potter sucks along with it.


	62. Trying to Love

_A/N: This is like my explanation as to why Ainsley is so different now that she is in love with Sirius – she's less sure of herself, as you've noticed, and I hope this short clears all of that up.

* * *

_

It's been a long, long night.

In the evening, just after dinner, Ainsley and Sirius had another squabble – another big squabble, one that ended with Sirius calling Ainsley unimaginably awful names and Ainsley firing insults and accusations right back at him. It was quite an ugly scene; it hurt me terribly to watch my best friend do that to a boy she loved so much. When she takes refuge into our dormitory, I follow her in, completely blown away by the extraordinary amount of hatred exchanged over the past few minutes.

"Ainsley, what is the matter with you?" I demand. "Why are you acting like this?"

"I don't know!" she shouts back at me. "I just don't!"

"You must, considering you've been saying the worst things you've ever said in your life," I remind her. "What the hell is wrong today?"

"I don't know!" she repeats hysterically. "I really don't know!"

"You have to know!"

"Haven't you done something you didn't think you would before?"

"No! I haven't!"

"You're weird then; and you don't listen to your impulses!"

"That's good, if listening to them makes me say things like what you said to Sirius!"

"You haven't been in love before."

"And with good bloody reason! Look at what it's done to you!"

"I know I'm screwed up – I don't need you to remind me, Lily."

I have no response to this; we both face each other, breathing heavily. I'm in a combative position, but Ainsley is in a remarkably passive position, holding her arms close to her body rather than lashing out at me like she normally does. I relax when I see this, but she doesn't. Instead, she says quietly, "I'm sorry."

"No, _I'm_ sorry," I say genuinely.

She sighs and releases her arms, looking very young once again. "This is just my problem. The ones I love the most are the ones that I always hurt."

"What do you mean?" I sit her down on one of the beds, fairly worried.

"Take you for example," she says. "I rag on you all the time, tease you, and aggravate you, yet you still tolerate me and try to help me when you think I need it."

"That's because you're my friend, Ainsley," I tell her. "That's what friends do."

"Then I'm not a very good friend," she says seriously. "Lily, you're so good to me, and I never give you anything for it."

"I don't need anything for it," I say. "I'm happy with how things are."

"I still hurt you though," she says, her tone dark. "I hurt you a lot. I can see it sometimes – the things I do and say scare you. You worry about me. I shouldn't do that to you – not after everything you've done for me."

"Yes, I do worry about you, but don't you worry about me sometimes too?" I point out.

"I suppose, but it's not only you that I affect," she says. "Here's another example – when I was eight, I had this cat, Snowball. I loved her to death – much more than any normal kid should love her pet; I tried to be the best owner I could. I paid attention to her, played with her, and never forgot to feed her. But when I was nine, Snowball ran away and never came back. I had to have done something wrong – otherwise she wouldn't have left." She takes a sad breath. "I waited for ages."

I put my arm around her shoulder. "While I'm sorry about that, cats run away from their owners quite a lot – you're not the only one. You didn't do anything wrong; you don't know what was going through Snowball's mind."

She refuses to listen to any type of reason – she goes with what she was saying. "And then, of course, there's Sirius. I don't know what comes over me when he's near me; it's like this…this…_reaction_ in the pit of my stomach. It kills me because it stings so badly. I die every single time, Lil, and I just want him to go away, so I snap at him. Then, when he does leave, I feel awful about it because all I want to do is love him, but I can't."

I try to hug her, but she pushes me away and gets up to pace, which she does when she's stressed. "I can't love," she says bitterly after a moment or two. "I love too hard."

I wish there is something – anything – I can say that will make her feel better, but words fail me. I'm forced to watch her continue pacing – pained, aching, and feeling like she can never do anything right. And, correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think there's anything in the world that's worse than a friend not knowing how much she really means.


	63. Evolution

_A/N: This time I remembered that soccer is called football! Hooray! Anyway, this short is going to make me look incredibly sexist, but you know what? That's fine, because I liked writing this anyway. Enjoy.

* * *

_

It's Saturday, and the weather isn't being all that kind – it's raining for the fourth time in the week.

So what do Gryffindors do to get their kicks?

They play Muggle sports in the common room.

Now, this may sound like a lovely recreational activity, and truly, it would be, had it not been done by Gryffindors. It would work if maybe the Hufflepuffs or the Ravenclaws did it – even the Slytherins – but not when it's Gryffindors. Not only do we throw the loudest, most raucous parties, we are the most brutal and competitive when it comes to sports. I think it comes with the whole being-brave deal.

Either way, when there are sports going on, it's better to build a bomb shelter and hope for the best.

That's what Ainsley and I do, then, on this gray morning – we build our own sort of a shelter and take refuge behind it to watch the progress of the boys, who have decided that they want to play football first.

"Look at them," Ainsley says with disgust as the game begins and yells/grunts fill the air in the common room. "It's despicable."

"I know what you mean," I say as James knees someone in the stomach and violently insists he shouldn't get a foul. "It's barbaric out there – I know James would normally never injure someone on purpose."

Silence. Ainsley and I look at each other for a moment. Subsequently, at the same time: "Nah, he would."

The game continues, and I see a slow but steady scowl begin to form on Ainsley's face throughout. I also notice how unfair it is that she can look so beautiful when she probably has really ugly thoughts going on in her head – should that even be allowed? However, I am brought out of this thought by Ainsley saying, "You know, I really do think that boys are the product of evolution's failure."

I snort – I can't help it. "How so?"

"Look at them," she says. "They're acting like apes or something out there. Wasn't evolution supposed to fix that?"

"I suppose," I say, still highly amused.

"Don't suppose – know," she reprimands me. "We're humans, not monkeys anymore; we should be acting slightly more mature, wouldn't you say?"

"Of course, Ainsley."

"Boys really show our roots," she comments. "To those that don't believe we descended from monkeys, watch football some time and you'll see."

I laugh. "Yes, Ainsley."

"Girls can be like that too, but it's not common," she goes on. "I mean, girls are _psychologically_ more vicious, which is completely different. Monkeys never messed with each other's heads because they weren't advanced enough. Therefore, I am forced to conclude that women are more advanced than men are when it comes to evolution and maturity."

"That's right, Ainsley."

"Quit agreeing with me like a robot," she snaps. "If you must agree, agree wholeheartedly. If not, say nothing and let me rant."

"I'm sorry," I say, giggling. "It's just that I found your theory very funny and needed time to get used to it."

She rolls her eyes. "Whatever. You know I'm right."

"Yes, you are," I say, chuckling all the same as I watch the game. "Evolution failed on boys. Got it."

She grins triumphantly. "I'm so smart. None of the scientists figured that one out, but I did."

I smile at her, but I don't say anything – I want to see which team ends up winning. Sports are evil to play, but they can be rather interesting to watch. However, as the brutal match drags on and I take a closer look, I see that Ainsley is quite right – they _are_ acting like monkeys, and we aren't.

Evolution did, without a doubt, fail on them – how had I been so blind to that?


	64. Seven

Seven is one of my most favorite numbers, and today, in Charms, Flitwick goes through why it's so magically powerful. It's absolutely fascinating; Ainsley and I feverishly discuss it on our way to Transfiguration.

"I love the number seven," she says. "Look at what Flitwick told us today! I didn't even fall asleep through it!"

I grin; the fact that she actually paid attention pays the topic a great compliment. "I know, I'm so proud of you. But I've also always loved the number seven; seven wonders of the world, seven major seas, seven great mysteries…"

"Seven more reasons why I love you," James says triumphantly, joining us unexpectedly from behind.

I groan. "Do you seriously spend time coming up with reasons on why you 'love' me?"

"Haha, loser," Ainsley inserts with a giggle.

He shrugs, not offended at all. "It's mostly spur of the moment."

"Well, here's another spur of the moment list then," I say, hit with inspiration. "Here are seven reasons why I hate you."

James raises his eyebrows and smiles challengingly. "Okay- let's hear them."

"First, you are beyond arrogant," I say. "You think you're so much better than everyone else, and in reality, you're not."

"Fair enough," he says, his eyes wickedly amused. "Anything else?"

"Of course," I say hotly. "Two, you're horrible, three, you're confusing, four, you're stupid, five, you're imbecilic, six, you're overly-obsessive, and for number seven, you make no bloody sense!"

"Wow," he says. "I didn't know I was all that. How do I not make any bloody sense though?"

He's so nonchalant about all of these things! It drives me mad!

"This conversation, for example," I tell him. "I'm telling you exactly what annoys me about you, and you're just smiling and asking me questions about it! No one does that!"

"Okay." James laughs. "What else did you say? Horrible, stupid, imbecilic, over-obsessive – you make those reasons clear every day. Wait, but how am I confusing? You mentioned that."

"I never know what to think about you!" I explode.

"What do you mean?" He wrinkles his nose, trying to understand what I'm saying.

"Go figure," I snap, tired of the conversation. "C'mon Ainsley." I grab her wrist and haul her to our next class, walking fast like I always do when I'm pissed.

She knows better than to say anything as we make our way to our destination, but I am plagued by thoughts I can't make heads or tails of. What was I feeling when I was talking to him? Why did I get so angry by the end? Why did I run the way I had? And, most importantly, what the hell is going on in my stomach right now? I'm feeling awful, like I'm going to die or something, the way it's hurting.

Stupid bloody James Potter; what has he done to me? I tell him seven reasons why I hate him, and all I can do afterwards is think about why I can't talk to him without losing my head completely.

Maybe seven isn't the greatest number after all.


	65. Oxymorons

_A/N: Blame an overload of Romeo and Juliet in Honors English for these Shakespearean-inspired shorts – this and the next were written in the middle of that class.

* * *

_

In Potions, I sit very near James, to my very great misfortune. It's not at all enjoyable, since he likes to ask me five hundred and eight questions every day on every useless subject he can think of, even if he already knows the answer, and he expects me to answer each one of them.

Yeah, like I really have nothing better to do in life.

However, I'm fortunate, because I also have Ainsley nearby. She's god-awful at Potions, so she usually needs my help, but we can also talk in the middle of class very easily and/or insult James, which is always fun. Today's subject for discussion is oxymorons from Shakespeare – I've been rereading Romeo and Juliet for the sixth time and Ainsley finds it sickening.

"He uses all those weird techniques for writing that just drive me insane!" she says. "Bizarre personification, weird metaphors, brain-scrambling allusions, contradictory phrases every so often…"

"The contradictions are called oxymorons, Ainsley," I say. "They're really, really good for showing mixed feelings. Like when Romeo killed Tybalt and Juliet hears about it – they're already married, so she's distraught and doesn't know what to think. Beautiful tyrant, fiend angelical, dove-feathered raven, wolvish-ravening lamb…"

"Stop it," Ainsley complains. "It makes him sound as if he can't make up his mind."

"That's the point – Shakespeare was trying to show how Juliet couldn't make up her mind at all," I explain.

"I still think it's stupid," she proclaims. "Stop talking about it."

"Talking about what?" James asks all of a sudden, looking over at us curiously.

"Oxymorons," Ainsley says before I can stop her. "She likes them."

"What are they?" James inquires.

"Contradictory statements that work together sometimes," I clarify stiffly. "Now don't talk to me."

"Why not?" He grins. "I like talking to you."

I roll my eyes, but Ainsley goes right ahead and says to James, "I hate oxymorons, don't you? They make you sound so fickle-minded."

"Yeah," he agrees.

I sigh. "You two have no respect for intelligent literature."

"I hardly know what an oxymoron _is_," James says. "I just said yes to Ainsley for the sake of saying yes."

"Yes, because you're _so_ committed to your opinions," I say sarcastically.

He smirks. "Want to explain what it is for me so that I can form a judgment of my own?"

"Well…" I think about it, and I say, "You're an example."

"I am?" He's too confused by that for his own good.

"Yes, you are," I confirm. "You say you're one thing, but you're the exact opposite at the same time. An awful sweetheart, a clever moron…"

"You think I'm a sweetheart?" He looks too pleased by that.

"No, I don't," I amend hastily as Ainsley begins to giggle hysterically. "It just came out; I swear I don't mean it."

"Of course you don't." James's smile resembles a half-of-a-watermelon as he goes back to his work, and I bang my head on the table a few times. What had possessed me to say the word sweetheart in front of him?

Ainsley taps my shoulder, and with a sense of gloomy foreboding, I turn to look at her. She is holding back her tears of laughter very badly, but I'm sure that was the intent. Then she says:

"You want another oxymoron?"

"Sure," I say, fairly nervous.

She smiles as though she's been waiting for me to say that. "A lovesick Lily Evans."

"How is that in any way related to this conversation?" I inquire.

"You don't get lovesick, yet here you are, so plagued you can hardly move," she clarifies in her favorite teasing, lilting tone. "You're so in love with James Potter – I think that could count as an oxymoron too, but a true one."

I sigh. "I'm really not in love with him."

She shakes her head and goes back to work, but for the very first time, I find myself second-guessing my own words, which has never happened to me before. Ever.

Again, I question anyone who can answer me – is this normal?

* * *

_A/N: Not sure if this one made sense, but hopefully you see what I mean. I'm kind of brain-missing today, but I had to get this up now or else I'd never finish it._


	66. Biting Thumbs

_A/N: I rather like how this one came out. :D Hope you like it too!

* * *

_

James is the most annoying creature on the face of the planet.

Ever since I accidentally called him a sweetheart – which is not at all true, by the way – he hasn't stopped pestering me. He comes up to me in the middle of class all the time and tries to flirt with me; it's like we're a couple that uses stupid teasing as a form of entertainment. We're not – doesn't he know that?

Finally, today, in Charms, I lose my temper; James comes over to me, smiles, and begins to babble about something or another, and I can't take it anymore. I bite my thumb firmly at him.

He looks startled. "Why are you biting your thumb, Lily?"

"Because you're bloody driving me crazy!" I shout at him.

"Well, then back to my original question – why are you biting your thumb?" His hazel eyes are so perplexed – he looks kind of cute with his head tilted slightly to the side, his expression confused. But not in the oh-my-gosh-that-guy-is-sexy-as-hell kind of thing; just in the look-at-the-poor-little-kid kind of cute.

I shake out of it though, and I explain, "I bit my thumb because that's the Shakespearean way of sticking up a middle finger."

James's eyebrows shoot all the way up, which destroys his look of innocence. "You tried to stick your middle finger up at me in Shakespearean?"

"Yes, I did," I say, pleased that he caught on so fast. Normally it would have taken much longer.

"That's not nice," he says. "That hurt – way in here." He pounds a fist to his chest to demonstrate.

"I'm quite sorry I hurt you so much," I say sarcastically.

"You should be," he says, his voice jokingly demure. "I think you should give me a kiss as compensation."

"Hell no." He must know that there is no way I'd ever do that.

"Please?" He leans in hopefully, and I find myself having to smell him. He has a nice smell, I discover. Very sophisticated with a splash of childish fun. Almost like mouthwatering cologne I once sniffed in a shop, a bit of dirt in the evening after a rain, and laundry detergent. Wow.

I try to snap out of this too, and push his face away. "No."

"How about on the cheek?" He offers me his cheek, unaware of how his smell is starting to affect me. "That should be harmless."

I bite my lip; now that I've smelled him, I kind of want to. His cheek looks wonderful, a plane of flawless skin, just waiting for my lips to press down on it.

I shake my head; no, no, no, no, _no_. What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I suddenly succumbing to him? Why do I want to touch him? Why am I smelling him? Why am I getting so carried away with this? Why am I losing my bloody mind? I can't answer any of these questions, so I do the only logical thing I can – I say, "No way," and scoot my chair back so that I can get away from him.

He lingers by my desk, obviously trying to warp my mind into agreeing out of guilt or conscience, but I simply bite my thumb again.

This time, James gets the insult behind it – he gazes at me with despondence before walking away. I watch him strike up a conversation with Sirius – one that includes lots of laughter over a subject I probably don't want to hear about – and I wonder why on earth he tries to talk to me. Is he trying to mess with my head? I think he is; that's the only possible explanation that can cover everything he's done to me over the years. He loves seeing me miserable. He enjoys it when I don't know what to do.

I set my jaw and bite my thumb at him one more time when he's not looking my way; so there, James Potter. I can bite my thumb at you, and you will bloody well take it, because I don't like you, and there's nothing you can do about it. No conflict when I'm thinking that way.


	67. Handshakes

_A/N: Yes, I know, I'm focusing too much on the romantic stuff. But I almost NEVER do pure fluff, so it's kind of nice trying it out. Besides, a lot of people like the overly cute reads – I want to give them what they enjoy. This story that focuses on the romantic lives of these characters, not anything else. So, for now, you get 100 shorts of pure romance. Take it or leave it. Okay, so the overly long rant is over now & you can read the short. xD

* * *

_

Before Charms, I'm in the room before Ainsley – she's in the bathroom. I sit alone, reading a book and perfectly content by it, but a few minutes later, James and Sirius enter the room, looking utterly delighted with a quiz grade; they're laughing and pointing excitedly at their papers.

I smirk; what typical boy behavior.

"What are you doing?" I inquire anyway.

"Nearly everyone failed this quiz, but we passed!" James explains to me, his eyes lit up with joy.

"Woohoo!" Sirius appears to high five James, but they miss each other's hands, smack their own thighs, snap their fingers, then pound against each others with a, "Pound boogie!" I stare blankly at them, completely in disbelief.

"What the hell was that?" I ask.

"A pound boogie," James explains. "It's a handshake Sirius and I made up. Want us to teach you?"

"I'm fine, thanks," I say with distaste.

Sirius rolls his eyes at me. "Just because we're not boring prudes with sticks up our pants, doesn't mean we're stupid, Lily."

"I'm not a boring prude with a stick up my pants," I object vehemently.

"You are," Sirius says. "You know you are."

I bit my thumb at him, which makes James laugh and Sirius gaze questioningly at both of us. He wouldn't understand it; the thumb thing is kind of like a private joke for James and me. Wow…that sounds so much like a friendship type thing to do, it scares me. James and I aren't friends, but at this moment, while we're enjoying Sirius's confusion, it feels like we are. I hate that warm feeling filling me up; I hate knowing he's caused it.

So, as I see more people start to come into the room, I say, "Go away, you two. I want to read."

"Only prudes read for fun," Sirius proclaims.

"Ainsley reads for fun," I point out. There's no need to mention that she doesn't do it much though.

He doesn't say anything, but he does leave right away upon hearing that, which was the intent. James goes with him, and I watch them for a little longer than I should, something strangely sad starting to affect me in the pit of my stomach. I don't know what it is, and it certainly wasn't there when I was talking to those two morons, but here it is; I suppose I'm just supposed to deal with it.

I sigh and begin on my book again; while James and Sirius do their useless 'pound boogies,' I'm going to read and gain aptitude which will be of use later in my life. Why? Because I'm Lily Evans; I care about my future, and not about foolish handshakes.


	68. It's Not Easy Being Mean

_A/N: Yes, I'm aware that I used the title of a Clique book, by Lissie Harrison. But deal with it – I like it, and it fits the short.

* * *

_

In Transfiguration, while McGonagall is giving another lecture, I am chatting with Ainsley, as usual. I like looking ahead and taking notes for exactly this purpose, while Ainsley, of course, never cares about keeping up with her work – it's nicely evened out.

Today, I'm incredibly annoyed with James; I complain to her about what a jerk he is and why I hate him so much. She listens for a little while, but interrupts me halfway through to say, "You're so in love with him that it makes me want to laugh."

I exhale roughly, trying hard to hold my temper. "I don't love him; I despise him, remember?"

"I thought I despised Sirius, and look how well that one turned out," she points out. "I really do think you love him, Lily."

"I don't," I repeat tiredly. "James is an absolutely stupid-ass bastard."

"I'm a what?" James picks an extremely inconvenient time to turn to us and look quite hurt. Something inside me softens when I see his wide, naïve eyes, but it's not enough to stop me from replying quite matter-of-factly, "I said you were an absolutely stupid-ass bastard."

Ainsley makes a clicking noise with her tongue. "That wasn't very nice."

"No, it wasn't," James says. "Tell me, Lily – why are you so mean to me?"

I shrug, and, since I don't have anything better to say on the spot, I say, "It's fun."

"Not for me," he says. "It's not at all fun when the girl you love is so horrible to you."

"You don't love me," I say scornfully.

"How do you know that?" he asks. "Hasn't the hundred and five million times I've told you convinced you yet?"

I choose not to answer this and simply say, "I'm mean to you because you deserve it, James Potter."

"How do I deserve it?" he demands.

"You're always trying to get into my life and I bloody hate it," I shoot back at him. This is a real reply, unlike the one I gave him for the first question. "I don't want you and I never will."

James's eyes narrow and he looks more angry than upset now. Ainsley, seeing this, tries to save the situation by saying, "She doesn't mean it. Ignore her."

He doesn't pay any attention to her; his intense gaze stays on me. It's odd – Ainsley attracts much more attention than I do, yet here's James, who wants to see what _I'm _thinking, despite my best friend trying to avert his interest.

That's not something I see everyday.

Still, we stare at each other, neither of us willing to turn away, and I find myself admiring his eyes rather than actually glaring, like he is. However, after about a minute, James turns away with disgust, and I am left staring at nothing, wishing he could look back at me for some unknown reason. I go back to Professor McGonagall, but not because I want to – but because I have to; I don't have James to study, and I don't fancy talking to Ainsley, because she's going to want to accuse me of being awful in an unprovoked situation. I guess that's always been my default – studying when real life doesn't work out. I never thought about that before.

I bite my lip and put my head down, wishing I could sink through the floor and never look anyone in the face again. The real reason, when I'm being honest with myself, is that one of James's simplest questions is spinning through my head, and I keep asking it to myself without being able to stop.

Really, why am I so mean to him?

And, after the entire class period is over, I have the same response as I did to start with: it is that I don't have a response at all.


	69. Ice Cream

_A/N: Based on this one comment I read on YouTube. Don't ask – just enjoy the short.

* * *

_

On Sunday morning, while I'm lazing around on my bed and eating mint-flavored ice cream I filched from the kitchens for no apparent reason, Ainsley is curled up in her blankets, looking tired. She hasn't gotten out of bed for the four hours we've both been awake, and when I asked why, she told me it was because she was sick – sick of life.

I left it at that.

Now, she finally begins to rise, her hair impeccably straight somehow, even though she'd been rolling around restlessly for hours. "Lily, save me," she moans.

"How so?" I take a bite of ice cream.

"Save me from being sleepy," she clarifies. "I'm so tired – I didn't get any sleep last night."

"Why not?" I take another bite of ice cream.

"I couldn't sleep," she says. "The room was too hot and I was really thirsty."

I smile slightly. "Ainsley, stop being a drama queen."

"I'm having a bad day, Lils, stop trying to victimize me," she complains.

"I'm sorry," I say honestly while slurping more ice cream. "Really."

She shrugs and rolls out of bed, only to let herself fall on the ground in a heap. "Don't mention it."

I peer over and watch Ainsley curl up on the floor, containing herself in a little ball. "What is wrong with you today?"

"I wish I knew." She sighs and her large, lovely eyes look up at me. "Do you know what's wrong with me?"

"No, I don't," I say regretfully. "Do you want some ice cream?" I show her mine, hoping to tempt her.

She shakes her head and tries to climb back into bed, acting like a slug. "No, I don't want ice cream. I want Sirius."

"Should I get him?"

She shakes her head for the second time as she puts her sheets over her head; I hear a sob from underneath. "No, I don't want you to get him for me."

I put my ice cream down and try to approach her, but she refuses to let me hug her. Instead, she takes the blankets off of her head and informs me, "I shouldn't want Sirius. I should want a bat so that I can hit him with it."

"It's okay to care," I say gently. "I've told you that before."

She bites her lip. "Sirius and I belong together like…like…" She looks around the room and spots my bowl of ice cream. "Like broccoli on your ice cream."

"But that means you don't belong," I say, not understanding.

"Exactly," she says sadly. "Broccoli and ice cream – two very different things that should never be mixed."

I sigh. "You're so in denial, Ainsley."

"So are you," she tells me. "The day you tell me you love James Potter is the day I tell Sirius I love him. That's my only condition - deal?"

"Okay," I agree, seeing as I'm never going to say those words together in a sentence even if my life depends on it. "Deal."

She gives me a small smile, looking much better already. "Want to get me some chocolate ice cream?"

I smile as well. "Sure."

Ainsley lies back on her pillow while I bounce down to the kitchens, where I find a bowl of ice cream to give to her. On my way up, I can't help but feel amused by her analogy. Broccoli and ice cream…

Well, I decide, that must mean broccoli will taste good with ice cream one day, because my sweet best friend is going to learn to enjoy that picky vegetable, and they're going to go so well together they're going to wonder what took so long for it to happen.

And then I'll be there to answer that question – it was delayed because of a certain, stubborn little ice cream that hated anything that didn't go along with her extremely strict principles.


	70. Truly Seeing

_A/N: Should be the only other exception to the thousand-words rule. I dunno, this one came out longer than expected, and I couldn't find places to cut words, so there you go, you get the long version. Enjoy.

* * *

_

In the common room, on a Friday night, there is nothing more fun than letting James tell everyone jokes for a couple of hours, according to my fellow Gryffindors. Every Friday, without fail, James tells every story known to mankind solely for his own entertainment (everyone else comes second to the almighty Potter – always), and today is no different. We gather around as though waiting for a cherished ruler (which, to some that are not me, he is), chattering away like the restless audience we are, and stare at James, since he is about to start babbling.

"Hey, you guys," he greets us as he always does, animation evident in his voice. "How are you?"

There's a chorus of "brilliant" – some sarcastic, some not – and at last, James launches into another one of his recent juvenile misadventures. I don't really listen, since I'm only here for Ainsley, who likes any excuse not to do her homework, but today, I decide to, just because I'm bored and I want to know if there really is any reason to rally around him week after week. Consequently, for the first time, I truly understand what it means to really open one's eyes and see something new in an old picture.

I've sat there, pretending to listen to him, for ages now, but it is only today that I give him my full attention. It is only today that I realize what all I've missed. The stories he tells are actually highly amusing – full of liveliness, misadventures, and an innocent type of style – and there's a certain…_charm_…in the way he uses his hands and talks so exuberantly. If he was _any_ other boy in the world, he would be the cutest thing I'd ever had the honor to lay my eyes on.

However, he is James Potter – that automatically makes him a cockroach.

Ainsley laughs from next to me in the middle of my marveling though, and whispers, "That was really funny!"

"Yes, it was – I heard," I admit.

She looks like I just sprouted an extra head. "You thought James was funny?"

"Yes – am I not allowed to find humor in the many idiotic activities of Hogwarts males?" I inquire, miffed.

"You are, but he's _James_," Ainsley says. "You're not supposed to find James funny at all – you're supposed to throw something at him because when he's being funny, he's also apparently being an egotistical moron."

I roll my eyes. "Fine; he's not funny."

"You're so in love with him!" Ainsley hugs me – or squeezes me against her shoulders, I can't tell which – and goes back to listening to James again, but that doesn't stop me from smacking the back of her head and kicking her in the shin at the same time. She accepts it with a mere, "That only shows me how right I am," and doesn't even cower when I growl at her.

I hate it when she knows I'm confused.

I don't speak to her for this reason, then, and I just keep my eyes on James. It's not hard to, to be quite candid. His presence radiates confidence and lighthearted humor, which is all anyone needs, with their short attention spans. I feel like one of his fan girls as I think these things; I shouldn't think he's so…great. I should think he's a bloody idiot and leave. I don't though – it feels to me as though what I think about his storytelling is private, personal, and tender, something no one else could ever understand. I mean, could any giggling twit possibly feel so profoundly about a boy known for being a fool?

But that's when I apprehend that there are several intelligent girls sitting around me, staring as raptly as I am at James; they could easily think the same things I am, and probably are. I'm not different at all. The comprehension fills me up with a strange feeling – like an unrequited love so sharp and painful that it cuts. That can't be right at all; _I'm_ the one rejecting his emotions, not the other way around – so why am _I_ the one feeling like I can cry over absolutely nothing? It's not right; it doesn't make any sense. I don't even care about him, let alone love him or have a crush on him!

I shake my head, trying to clean it out a little. I then sigh and try to compose myself once more, but I'm stopped when I hear a giggle that I recognize as Ainsley's. I look at her, and she says, "He's done, Lils, and he's wondering what the hell you're doing."

I start; had I really been in my confusion bubble that long? I look at James again, and he is indeed giving me a very questioning look. I am embarrassed out of my mind; he knows that I was fidgeting, looking sad, and shaking my head like some brain-dead moron! Oh Merlin, could this get any worse?

"Lily, what's wrong?" he asks me.

I stand corrected; things _could_ get worse, and they just have.

"Nothing," I say gruffly. "J-just thinking about…about _stuff_."

He nods, clearly not getting it but pretending he does anyway. "Sure you don't want to tell me anything?"

"Positive," I say breathlessly, trying to remain cool, calm and collected even though am I none of those three things at the moment. "See you." I wave lamely as an extra effect.

He appears to be a bit nonplussed as he walks away, and Ainsley finds our exchange hilarious. She giggles and reminds me about specific gestures I was making as we go upstairs together, which I do not appreciate in the least. I glare at her and tell her to bug off otherwise I'd order James to tell Sirius to ask her out, which I knew she wouldn't like since she was well aware of the fact she might not be able to refuse. That shuts her up; she leaves me alone, but not without giving me the filthiest look she can muster.

Whatever; filthy looks from Ainsley aren't that uncommon, and are much easier to deal with than James Potter seeing me flail like an idiot in the common room.

I don't know what came over me though; I reflect on that as I lay on my bed. Why had all those weird feelings come to me? Why did I suddenly feel like I'd just lost something near and dear to me? I hadn't; I'd only watched James talk, scared him, and made him edge away from me.

I blow a loose strand of my hair out of my face with a sullen exhale; my life stinks.


	71. Words to Never Say

_A/N: I don't know when the first James Bond came out and I'm too lazy to research, but just go with it for now – James Bond exists in this mini-universe for the purposes of this short.

* * *

_

Just before Transfiguration, I feel like I'm dying.

I don't know why; I'd been fine up until this moment. I'm just sick, tired, and craving someone to tell everything to. Ainsley's wrapped up in her own problems, so I can't go to her for anything, and it's more than my life's worth to try telling anyone else how I feel – therefore, I am stuck, and forced to conclude that nature hates me.

Which it does.

I lay my head on my hands, wishing for a miracle, when someone comes up to me and asks me, "What's wrong, Lily? You look so depressed."

I look up to see that it is James who has come to me, and I don't like that. That's why I say, "Nothing's wrong. I'm perfectly fine."

"You're not." He takes Ainsley's vacated seat (she felt like ditching her classes today – the lazy girl) and puts his arm around me. "Can you tell Jamesie why?"

I give him the most quizzical look I can congregate. "Aren't you supposed to be mad at me for what I did the other day?" I hadn't exactly been kind to him when he heard me call him a stupid-ass bastard.

"I was, but I figured, hey, live and let live." He smiles sweetly at me. "You can think whatever you want about me, but I know that one day, you'll be my friend and we'll live happily ever after, eh?"

He's so sickeningly optimistic.

"Don't say that," I pout.

"Don't say what?"

"That we're going to be friends," I clarify. "We won't be."

"I want to be much more than that, but for now, all I want is to be your friend." He strokes my hair. "It's because I love you, Lil."

I sigh. "Don't say that either."

"What did I say this time?"

"Love," I exclaim. "It's such a stupid word. Four letters, signifying pain, beauty, confusion, intricacy, and inconceivable joy. Love; it has no real definition. It's just a mixture of everything, thrown into a short, little word that is supposed to make sense. Just don't say it."

James nods, seeming to somehow comprehend my anguish. "Is there anything else you don't want me to say?"

"Don't say you love me," I say at once. "You don't – not at all. You're only in love with the fact that you've found a girl who can resist you. I'm going to be nothing to you once you have me."

"You know that's not true," he says gently. "I'll love you forever."

"You said love," I snap.

"I'm sorry," he repents, just to humor me. "What else can't I say though? You sidetracked me."

I roll my eyes. "Never say you love me, and never say your name either."

"Why can't I say my name? It's a very sexy name – James." He smiles widely, revealing his two lines of perfectly straight white teeth. "Rolls off the tongue." He laughs. "Remember those Muggle spy movies? That one guy says, 'My name is Bond. James Bond.'" He clears his throat. "My name is Potter." He turns his head so that his front bangs sweep his forehead, making him look messier than usual. "James Potter."

I swat his shoulder. "You can't say your name, because I don't know what I think about it yet."

"You don't know what you think about my literal name, or me?" James inquires, his eyes boring into mine.

I refuse to let him take control of me; "Both," I answer.

He chuckles. "I see." It is evident that he wants to say something more, but the bell rings, which cuts him off and saves me more trouble – James is forced to go to his seat. I watch him plop down into his chair and pretend to listen to the latest lecture, but I surprise myself by not listening to Professor McGonagall at all as I take out a sheet of parchment and start doodling. I doodle James's name, which surprises me further. James, James, James. He's right; it's a rather sexy name.

I write it several times on my page – sometimes in print, sometimes in cursive, other times in crazy calligraphy I invented myself. It's such a fun name to write. James, James, James, James, James. James. James Potter. James, your hair is looking particularly untidy today. James, you're an absolute arse. You're so egotistical, James. I hate you James. James, go away. James, James, James. I can never have enough of it; the taste of it tingles on my lips. James. I vow right away that I'm going to marry a man named James – not James Potter, but James. And, if I like a man whose name is not James, I'll have that be my one marriage request – that he changes his name to James.

I look at my finished page of drawings featuring that wretched, gorgeous name, and I give a silent snort of disgust. This is so sick and childish. I crumple up the parchment and stuff it deep into my bag, hoping I never see it again.

James…that's definitely a word to never say, now that I know exactly what kinds of consequences come from liking it.


	72. Making Progress

_A/N: Brace yourself _–_ it's another dramatic one.

* * *

_

Ainsley and I feel utterly screwed.

Lately, we've been fighting nearly every day with James and Sirius, despite them previously forgiving us. It's awful – Ainsley is forever lashing out at Sirius just because trying (very unsuccessfully) to defy nature, and it seems that I hate every single thing that there is about James. It's been an endless stretch of arguing, snapping, and hating, and it's now at a point where we don't even know what to say anymore. So what do we do? We don't speak at all.

It's hurting though; it hurts me every single day, to see James, laughing and smiling with his friends but giving me a cooled look when he catches my eye. It hurts to know that such little details bother me. And, worst of all, it hurts to see Ainsley dying every day because she wants Sirius but doesn't have the last little bit of nerve required to bloody take him. She says all these awful things about him, but one look into her enormous eyes immediately says that she doesn't mean even a syllable of it. It's as though she thinks I don't see her lust – she always denies it – but at the same time, how can anyone _not_ see it? It's a miracle Sirius himself hasn't seen it.

But, then again, it's Sirius; he wouldn't know emotion even if it danced with a fruit basket atop its head right in front of him.

So, we trudge along, day by day, hoping the next day will be better, like a worm attempting to convince itself it can break through solid cement to get to its environment. It's hopeless, but we go on anyway, just because it's easier than admitting the truth.

On Tuesday morning, I wake up at my usual time, feeling sluggish and awful after yet another night of thinking of ways to apologize for behavior I wasn't sorry for towards James. I lean over to wake Ainsley up, but she can hardly open her eyes. She smacks my hand away every time it comes near her and moans that she doesn't want to get up.

"Ainsley, persevere," I plead. "Don't you want to see Sirius?"

"No," she grumbles, burying her head under her covers. "I don't want to bloody see Sirius."

"I'm sure he wants to see you," I coax her.

"He doesn't," she says in a sullen tone that suggests a pout going on under there. "I was a bitch to him; he won't want to see me."

"You can't know that." I take the cover off of her and drag her out of her bed. "Come on, little turtle; quit hiding under that shell of yours."

Ainsley lets me pull her to the bathroom to start brushing our teeth, though she doesn't look happy. "I'm not a turtle – I'm an independent woman seeking a break from life. Is that so wrong?"

"Yes," I say. "Because this independent woman needs to go and tell her man that she's in love."

"I won't," she says, setting her jaw. "Lily, I can't care about him; if I give it time, maybe I'll stop feeling anything. I just need to be away from him, which I can't do now, since you're making me go to class."

"You are hiding and you know it," I say. "You're so strong and independent about everything, Ainsley; why are you falling apart over this?"

"I'm not falling apart," she insists, though her eyes are, once again, betraying her. "I'm perfectly fine. I'm still the same person I used to be."

"You're not," I say gently. "I've told you a hundred times; you can be as defiant as you want, but it's stupid to try to change what's already destined to happen. You love him and that's all right."

"Yes, I do love him," she agrees. "Okay? You got that much; I love him. But that doesn't mean I'm going to do anything about it – he doesn't want me anymore."

"You are so pessimistic," I complain. "Love has come for you, Ainsley; you have that person you were waiting your whole life for. _Go for it_. I mean, it's hard, yes, but you should tell him. The hardest things for humans to say are 'I'm sorry,' 'help me,' and 'I love you;' you'd be demonstrating your strength more if you just said you loved him."

She sighs, shaking her head as she approaches her sink. "I don't know, Lily. Sirius isn't exactly one to stay with one girl for a long period of time."

"Be the exception!" I encourage her. "You always want to be the odd one out – be the different one for Sirius, Ainsley."

She bites her lip and squeezes toothpaste to her brush, letting it linger near her mouth. "I'm tempted, when you put it that way."

"Good girl," I say, smiling as I thump her on the back. "Just remember that it's hard for _everyone_ to say they care – you're not alone."

She gives me a wistful half smile and says, "Thanks, Lil." She puts the toothbrush in her mouth, not wanting to give me a direct answer on when she'll tell Sirius she loves him, but I'm okay with that – I've given her a perspective that caught her attention and will keep her thinking, and that's enough for now.

We brush in silence, both of us thinking about Sirius and if/when/how Ainsley will spill her thoughts, but we don't voice anything, even after we get dressed and go to breakfast. Why? Because love can't be rushed; love knows no order, and letting Ainsley figure it out herself is probably the best bet if she wants to get it right.


	73. Anything & Everything

It's about midnight, and I'm still in the common room.

It's pitiful, I know, but I had a lot of homework I had to get done for the next day, and I needed to get it done. Ainsley went upstairs ago, calling me sick and twisted for willingly staying awake to do my homework, which I suppose I am, but I miss her company. Ainsley always makes things interesting.

I sigh and start putting my books away – I'm finally done and I want a bit of sleep to get through the next day. I'll need the energy for avoiding James, which I've been doing a good job of lately; we prefer to not talk, just because I think he's tired of me for the moment and I have absolutely nothing to say to him. It's a sad existence, but I'm doing it, and so far, I have nothing to regret.

As I make my way to the stairs to my dormitory, I find James's bag lying on the side with a piece of parchment sticking out. I didn't expect to see it there; didn't he usually keep his bag in his dormitory the way he was supposed to? Then I remember – Quidditch practice had run late, so he had abandoned his bag by the stairs to get to bed faster, obviously not bothering to complete his homework. I shake my head; that boy really needs to learn determination.

Revolting myself, I take the bag and put it on the common room table so that he can find it easily the next morning. It's the least I can do, right? However, as I lift the bag (which is quite heavy, due to a large amount of unnecessary items thrown in there without a care in the world), the piece of parchment that had been hanging out falls to the floor. I put the bag on the table, as intended, but pick up the parchment curiously, wondering what James had written on it. It's very messy – I can barely read it – but I manage to make out the words scrawled across it.

_Anything and everything  
__Everything and anything  
__I'd give anything for you to love me  
__I'd have everything if you did  
_–– _J. P._

I literally stop breathing for a moment, any kind of reactive noise stuck in my throat. I turn the parchment over to see if he's written more, and I see my initials, L. E., drawn in painfully careful calligraphy. He wrote me a poem! The ink is still fairly new-looking, so it couldn't have been more than a few hours since he wrote it. He still cares about me! Why does this thrill me so much?

I bite my lip as I fold the parchment and slip it back into his bag. Anything and everything…I'd give everything to know what we're really going through, but I know that anything I'm told will most probably upset me, or will make me want to kill James.

That's the irony of life; it's everything around us, but it's anything but miraculous.


	74. Loving an Idiot

_A/N: I don't like how this came out, but I don't know how to fix it properly so that I do like it – therefore, you're stuck with this version. Sorry.

* * *

_

In the common room, it's relatively quiet tonight; I'm reading a book and Ainsley is lying around on the sofa, deep in thought. I don't ask what she's thinking about though; she gets kind of touchy when I do. There are a few lazy conversations floating around, including mine with Ainsley, but other than that, it's just another Thursday night, trying to get things done without dying under the pressure.

While we sit, however, Sirius marches into the room and heads straight for Ainsley, furious for a reason only he is aware of.

"Why are you being a bitch?" he demands. "First you fight with me, and then you ignore me! It's driving me crazy!"

"What do you expect me to do, if this bothers you so much?" Ainsley retorts. It's obvious to see that while she's taken aback by his unexpected (and probably unwarranted) shouting, Sirius has had it all bottled in for a while. I look up from my book in interest, wondering what they're going to do next.

"I expect you to answer me when I ask you a direct question and look me in the eye when you talk to me," he orders.

"I've been ignoring you and fighting with you for ages; why is this suddenly bothering you now?" Ainsley is perfectly calm – it's rather comical, especially when contrasted to a seething Sirius.

"Because, like I told you already, it's driving me crazy!" he explodes.

"Well, I think it is incredibly fun to drive you crazy," Ainsley says, rising to her feet. "I like seeing you angry."

Every Gryffindor is looking up to watch at this point, the same question floating around in all of their heads – what is Ainsley going to do now?

"Why do you like to see me angry?" Sirius takes a step closer to her.

"Because it's hilarious." Ainsley's pose is insolent and her tone challenging as she steps even closer.

"It's not funny." She and Sirius are only a couple of centimeters apart after they each take a second step.

"Why not?" Ainsley inquires.

Another step. "I said it's not," Sirius says back, his voice a bit quieter.

"You're a bloody idiot."

"You're an attention seeking bitch."

Ainsley freezes up a bit when he says that, but she doesn't let it show – much. "You're an arrogant bastard," she ends up saying.

"You're sexist."

"You're awful."

"You're annoying."

"You're evolution's failure."

Sirius is clearly struggling; Ainsley is millimeters from him – just millimeters – and conflict is obvious in his expression. Ainsley, on the other hand, is perfectly composed, though I know her heart must be pounding hard in her chest. I'm her friend; I can just feel these things.

Finally though, Sirius loses all patience; he mutters, "Just kiss me already and be done with it," pulls Ainsley in by her waist and, before anyone can begin to understand what just happened, he plunges his mouth to hers. I hear gasps, but to all our of astonishment, Ainsley doesn't resist; she kisses him back, putting her arms around his neck, and even though Sirius hadn't expected her to do it, he accepts it anyway. They're so in love with each other, anything works.

Everyone in the room is as surprised as I am, but we burst out into applause anyway – it is the first time Ainsley has let Sirius kiss her without trying to hit him. I can see that she likes finally letting him near her; something in her relaxes, and she doesn't let go of Sirius at all for at least four or five minutes. It thrills me to see them together like that; I know how much Ainsley has wanted it.

At long last, Ainsley breaks their kiss, a small, tender smile on her face. "I'm sorry for everything, Sirius, and for some reason, I love you."

A look of wild, uncontainable happiness is visible on Sirius's face for just a fraction of a second before he captures her lips in his once again, appearing to be sucking life energy from her. His arms are tightly around her, and I know she wouldn't want it any other way.

I don't get to see Ainsley again for the rest of the evening, since Sirius wants to be alone with her, but I'm okay with that; she deserves to have a bit of fun with him. She feels so much for him; it's the chance she's been waiting for. I'm also highly amused by the fact that normally, Ainsley would not approve of snogging in public, claiming it to be show-offy and aggravating. My best friend…she's a paradox unto herself.

Maybe that's why Sirius loves her so much though; the contradictions come together to make one beautiful girl that, even if annoying at times, is easy to adore, fun to be around, and impossible to ignore, even for a minute.


	75. Consequences

_A/N: Yes, LJ is coming. Why was I delaying it? Hang tight, and the next few shorts will explain it for me. Got it? Excellent; read on.

* * *

_

Ainsley has never been happier since she accepted Sirius into her life, just like I had predicted, and because of this, _I _have never been happier myself. Ainsley is out all night, partying with Sirius, but I like that – I know she's having fun Sirius-style.

However, James hadn't forgotten about the promise I had so rashly and desperately made to him – when Ainsley and Sirius got together, me and James would have to go out to Hogsmeade. He reminds me about it during lunch today, when Ainsley is sitting elsewhere with Sirius.

"Lily, when are we going out then?" he asks casually as he slides in beside me on the bench.

"Never," I say. "Why?"

"You owe me," he says triumphantly.

I remember that I do indeed owe him, and I groan. "I don't know."

This puts a slight dampener to my friend's happiness.

He gives me a look. "Lil, you can't pretend that we haven't become friends lately."

"We're not friends," I object, even though I'm not so sure what we are anymore. "I just needed your help for a couple of things to help Ainsley, and now I don't, since she got Sirius by herself."

"So you were using me." It wasn't a question – it's a statement.

"Of course not!" I object. I hadn't _used_ him – no, I couldn't have! _Using_ just sounds so…bad. I couldn't have done it. James obviously thought differently though.

"A deal is a deal, Lily Flower" he says.

I sigh with defeat – I've been raised to keep my promises, and no matter how much I loathe it, James is no exception. I have to go on the date.

"All right, all right," I say impatiently. "When do you want to go?"

"I'd say Saturday afternoon," he says at once, as though he's already planned this. "We can go and binge in Honeydukes; I know you like chocolate."

I nod as unenthusiastically as I possibly can, though having a reason to splurge on sugar with James sounds like an extremely interesting experience. "Fine. Sounds fine."

"See you Saturday, Lily." He winks at me and thumps me on the back before leaving, and I truly do consider suicide; it's easier than dating James Bloody Potter, even if I owed him.

I'm quite gloomy when I see Ainsley again just before Potions, and she, of course, wants to know why. I am about to tell her that I'm not in the mood to share, but before I can stop myself, the whole story spills out – everything, including my pathetic attempts at getting her together with Sirius, James helping me, and the condition he'd put on me. Ainsley listens quietly to my rant, seeming to show sympathy, but when I finish, she gives me an answer I'm not expecting.

"Serves you right, for trying to pry into my love life," she says. "Anyway though, you should be celebrating – you like James, and he's a great match for you."

"What?" I am flabbergasted; what the hell is she talking about?! "I hate him!"

"You don't," she says patiently. "Ever since I've started hanging out with Sirius, I've started to understand how this relationship thing works. I realized that I never actually hated Sirius himself; I hated the attraction he always held for me. I'm sure that's how it is with you and James – you're going on that date you promised him and goddamnit Lily, you're going to enjoy it."

"No!" I wail. "Ainsley, don't turn on me!"

"I'm not turning on you, I'm helping you," she corrects me. "You tried to help me, now I'm going to do the same for you, just because I'm the greatest friend in the universe. Go on that date – you're going to have fun."

"What if I don't?" I fret. "What if I lose my self-control and strangle him or something?"

"You won't," she says. "I promise you won't."

"I don't want to go," I complain. "Ainsley, have Sirius force James to call it off."

"I'm going to do no such thing," Ainsley says. "You always told me to suck it up and go with what life gives you, and now I'm going to do the same thing." She smiles impishly, then says, "Like they say in that horrid book you love so much; go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days!"

* * *

_A/N: The last line there was from Romeo and Juliet, which I'm FINALLY done with in English class. :)_


	76. The New Ainsley

_A/N: This short was weird, since Ainsley seems so out of her usual character, but I think I explained why in a way that should make sense. Hopefully.

* * *

_

I swear I don't even know Ainsley anymore.

The Ainsley I befriended all those years ago was pessimistic, hated getting up in the morning, and never smiled before noon because she wasn't fully awake yet. Now, she gets up _before_ I do, hums as she gets ready for class, and laughs at just about everything. I can't believe her; she is acting like what she would call an overly-happy, starry-eyed halfwit.

"Ainsley, what the hell has been happening to you lately?" I ask her this morning as she dances across the dormitory, singing some song at the top of her lungs before breakfast. "You're never like this."

"I'm in love, Lily!" She throws her arms out with an extra leap. "I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love!"

"I think you're crazy," I say. "You're never this cheerful, least of all in the morning."

She shrugs, her smile still in place. "Sirius puts me into high spirits – really high spirits. He kisses so _amazingly_, it's not even funny."

"Waving aside Sirius's kissing expertise – who are you and what have you done with my best friend?" I demand.

Ainsley smiles. "I've learned a lot over these past couple of days, Lils, and one of the things I learned is that when life is good, sing it to whoever will listen. When it isn't, then get over it and make life good again. That's how I've always operated; it's just that this time, life is drastically different, but in a good way. Sirius is funny, sweet, remarkable, and utterly down-to-earth when you convince him that the earth is a good place to be." She starts to jump on her bed, looking like a little kid as she giggles. "Weee!"

"Okay, you've always been immature, Ainsley, but can you stop acting like you're three years old?" I request.

She rolls her eyes and bounds back to me, a silly grin on her face. "Fine, fine. But really, Lily – take a chance on love." She holds onto her bedpost and spins around a little on it, her head lolling out into space. "It can surprise you – this coming from me, the greatest disbeliever of love."

I sigh; I'd always wanted Ainsley to be happy, but not to the point where she wasn't the same girl I knew and adored. Where was _that_ Ainsley? Where was the Ainsley that hated men and wanted to throw a lead block at Sirius's head? I find that I miss her, even though all I'd ever done was try to change her.

"Why are you suddenly singing love songs?" I then ask her, deciding to bring up another thing that's been on my mind lately. "You don't usually like them."

"I know, but I kind of like them now," she says. "Half of them remind me of Sirius." She begins to restlessly braid her hair, simply to find something for her hands to do. "He's like a song that's always stuck in my head – it can get incredibly annoying and make you wish it was out, but at the same time, you love it and can't have enough of it. He's my little love song." She gives up on my hair and spins around on her bedpost again.

I look quizzically at her. "Ainsley, are you sure you haven't been having too much firewhiskey?"

She smiles again and actually calms down for me. "No, I haven't had too much to drink. I'm just in a great mood, that's all." I must have shown great confusion in my expression though, because then she laughs and says, "I'm still the same Ainsley, Lil; just a more…positive version."

"I suppose," I say unwillingly. "Just don't give yourself all the way up for him; that's never a good thing, no matter what you feel for him."

"I know," she says. "I'm not going to be stupid about him; I'm the first to know how to reprimand a boy for being an idiot." Ainsley's smile returns in full form. "I can take care of myself – don't worry about me. For now, all _you_ have to worry about is that date of yours with James on Saturday. You'll like it, I promise."

I say nothing; instead, I let her twirl her way out of the dormitory to the Great Hall for breakfast, and stay wrapped up in my own thoughts. Ainsley in love…I'd been wondering what that would look like for a while, but now that I've seen it, I discover that I preferred it when she was the silly, immature, contradictory, boy-detesting Ainsley who was more capable of cursing until her face turned blue than belting out love songs early in the morning for Sirius Black.

At least with that Ainsley, I knew that no matter what happened, she and I would hate Sirius and James together with a passion. Now, I'm stuck going on a date with him, alone with no witnesses to tell an adult if he does something idiotic, and Ainsley isn't even there to share my pain.

I guess I'd better be more careful the next time I say I wish Ainsley got together with Sirius.

* * *

_A/N: The LJ date is in the next one. :) And Ainsley won't be quite so high on sugar in the future, I promise. :P_


	77. Victim of a Sugar High

_A/N: I probably should have written the entire date out as I had it planned in my head, but it was too long – that's why you get this version instead._

I storm back to my dormitory today the way I do when I'm angry, but the odd thing is that I'm not angry – I'm happy. So happy, in fact, that I can understand why Ainsley was so hyper the other day, and _that_ most definitely is a miracle in itself.

I fall onto my bed, feeling like I'm in a dream. Honeydukes, James, and_ so much chocolate_ – all of it is blurring together in my head, like wet paint smearing into a collection of jumbled color. I can't think straight; a wave of emotion has buried me under it, leaving no room for individual thoughts.

However, I _can_ remember how the date went. I wore an ordinary outfit – nothing special – and met James in the Entrance Hall at three, as planned. He took me to Honeydukes, but it was an awkward trip; he didn't know if he should hold my hand or put his arm around my shoulders or waist. There was also little conversation, since I had nothing to say, and James didn't want to say something wrong and screw up.

Brilliant, right?

It was probably smart; I would have grilled him for doing something retarded at the start of his dream date and left him right then and there.

Things got better once we got to the shop itself though; I went mad and made a dive for chocolate samples while James laughed and commented on how uncivil I got when it came to junk food. I ignored him and picked up some chocolates for myself, but when I was about to pay, James smoothly slipped the correct amount of Galleons from his pocket under my hand and refused to take them back. I felt awful (and rather piggy when I had picked), but he didn't allow me to do anything about it besides eat. I supposed that it was a sweet gesture, but all it really did was make me increasingly nervous around him – not to mention more self-conscious than I already felt.

We sat down at a table and started to consume the vast amounts of chocolate I decided to share with him, and we talked. Gosh, I can't even remember what all we talked about – the time Remus got sick from eating a huge ice cream sundae Sirius had dared him to eat, my loathing for white chocolate, his addiction to Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans and the instance when he got a vomit-flavored one, my dislike for such stomach risks…all of it flowed together into a conversation that I thoroughly enjoyed. After a while, I even forgot that I was talking to James Potter; it was as though I was talking to some long-lost friend I craved to know more about. Through our discussion, I ate my way steadily through a rather large amount of chocolate, and before I knew it, I was acting like I was drunk.

Is it possible to get drunk on sugar?

Apparently so.

I giggled like a lunatic at everything he said, and even began to wobble a little when we walked back to Hogwarts. Everything was just so _funny_ – could I help it? No, I couldn't, and James's constant flow of jokes didn't exactly help. I found myself enjoying his company, and now that I'm in my room and away from him, I kind of miss him. He's lively, and funny, and easy to talk to – surprisingly enough. He likes chocolate too, which is even better. His hand is soft as well; he touched me a couple of times and it felt nice. His palms are hideously callused, but there was some kind of tenderness to them that made me disregard every bad thing I could have said about the experience. Is that a socially acceptable thing to do? I touch my cheek, which he had stroked at some point during the date in addition to my hand – are some of his skin cells still on me?

I then bolt upright on my bed, completely out of the blue, in the middle of my demented thought process to stop my head from spinning. I know just three things:

I'd just gone on a date with James Potter.  
He's deluded me into thinking I like him by getting me to eat chocolate and sugar.  
I. Am. Furious.

Well, my sugar high is wearing off; I can think right again, and I know that I didn't like the date. James is not funny, aggravating to talk to, and his hands are way too over-callused because they're so battered by constant Quidditch. He is not tender and I'm not happy anymore. Why? Because the date was awful and I don't like James _at all._

I sigh, trying to convince myself that murdering James is a bad idea. All right, rational thinking time. What had I been pondering when I waltzed into the dormitory a few minutes back? Was it the distinct possibility that the date had been a good thing, like Ainsley and James had promised it would be? Yes, I had been considering that, but now I'm not – the answer is no. I don't love James; I only love chocolate. I can't love James – he is _James_, and because of that fact, I have not allowed myself to love him. It's how life works – I'm not about to change that delicate balance just because of feelings from something as trivial as a date.

Why am I even arguing with myself over this anyway? It's James – I shouldn't care. I should just reject him and move on.

All I can really say to that is that I blame my sugar consumption for screwing with my mind.


	78. Redefining

For as long as I can remember, I've had an exact and strict rule about what I think love should be. Now though, I'm starting to question what love really is.

Why? It's because of James, Ainsley, and Sirius. After my date with James, I've been…well, not confused, but kind of _unsure_ about what love really could be. Isn't love exemplified by that little tingle in my belly when he walks by? Isn't love exemplified by the overwhelming impulse to touch him, be near him, or fiddle with his hair? Isn't 'loving' very simply another word for caring about someone? I would have thought so, but now that I'm starting to feel the start of such feelings for James, I must try and redefine love so that it doesn't appear that I'm in love with him.

That's why I have been watching Ainsley and Sirius very closely over the past couple of days. They are like any other couple – holding hands, kissing good-night, laughing with the other – but at the same time, they're extraordinary. Ainsley is glowing in all her new-found confidence for love, and Sirius is, well, Sirius; he's bouncier than a rubber ball these days. All they want right now is each other, and it is obvious in every smile on Ainsley's face, every touch from Sirius's fingers. It makes me ache, to know that such a deep passion can exist in two teenagers, both of whom I know pretty well and would never have thought to make a couple. Why can't I have a love like that?

I've been thinking a lot about that question – about why I couldn't have someone who loved me that much. It's because I never made it clear that I wanted one. Like Ainsley, I had always been known for hating boys and never wanting a boyfriend, even if it wasn't always true. I'm Ainsley's friend, which automatically gives me a reputation I might not have received otherwise. That's why no one really looks twice at me; no one knows what I want. Why is that bothering me so much?

Okay, so I know the answer to that one too. It's bothering me because I'm a little jealous – Ainsley has the love of a lifetime, and I don't. She has someone that looks at her as though she's a goddess or something, and I don't. She gets to be hugged and kissed and cuddled whenever she wants it, and I don't. She has a boy that has proved himself to be a cut above the abominations we know, and I don't. I'm thrilled for her, don't get me wrong, but is it fair to give one friend her true love and not the other? No, it isn't, and I miss the single Ainsley who made fun of girls with boyfriends. I hate being left behind when it comes to the game of love – Ainsley's already near the finish line and I'm still left at the starting space. I don't want to beat her to the finish – I just want to be there with her, my own boyfriend next to me, while we cross it together. That can't be too much to ask for.

I ponder over this in the evening by the fire in the common room alone, staring at the flames and wishing they could somehow give me the answer to what I'm trying to find. However, while I'm thinking, Ainsley bounds in all of a sudden, nearly giving me a heart attack, and sits next to me, the animation radiating off of her.

"Hey, Lily," she says. "Why aren't you upstairs? I was going to come up and get ready for bed with you."

"I wanted to be down here," I say. "Where were you?"

"In the kitchens," she answers. "Sirius and I were eating éclairs."

"I see," I say moodily.

"What's wrong?" She looks into my face, her own rather worried.

"Nothing," I lie.

"Lils, you're my best friend – I know when something's bugging you," she says gently.

I shake my head, hoping I don't appear to be as troubled as I think I am. "Nothing's bothering me, Ainsley."

She settles into her seat so that she's a bit more comfortable and says, "If it's my thing with Sirius, I know, I'm acting stupidly. I shouldn't forget about everything else like I am and ignore you; I'm sorry that I've been doing that. But now I'm here, and I want to know what's getting to you."

I look into her hypnotizing grey eyes, but resist the urge to tell her everything. "When I know what's going on myself, I'll let you know, Ainsley," I say at last, smiling slightly. "And don't worry about acting stupid; you're not."

"I am, and you're too sweet to say it." She hugs me. "I don't know what the hell I did right to get a friend like you, Lily – I really don't know. But whatever it is, I'm glad I did it, because I don't know what I'd do without you. So, if you need to tell me anything, please do, because I owe you – hugely."

I hug her back, blissful in her sturdy embrace. "Of course I'll tell you."

She lets me go, tries to think of something sentimental to say back, fails, but then smiles widely. "Want ice cream?"

My face breaks into a grin; that's about as sentimental as it gets when Ainsley is the one giving love advice. "How can I resist that offer?"

Just as rapidly as my previous lethargy came to me, it leaves as she and I rush down for some ice cream from the kitchens.

I decide it as we race down a corridor, laughing our heads off: figuring out love can wait right now, because ice cream can't.


	79. Letting Love In

_A/N: I'm starting to get awful about keeping to only 1,000 words, but this is an important short, so I'm leaving it long. It's another pivotal one, so I hope it came out all right.

* * *

_

I sigh with satisfaction in the dormitory – finally, I am done with all of my homework for the week. Now I can kick back, relax, and slack off…at least until next week, but that's good enough for me. I'm quite proud of myself, even though it is ten thirty and I have been working for six hours straight.

I put away my things and look around for Ainsley. At nine, she had gone out for a moonlight walk with Sirius, and had told me that she would be back by around ten latest. She's a half hour late – where could she be? I know it's not exactly uncommon for Ainsley to stay out late, but I still worry about her like a good friend does.

I dismiss the matter from my mind though; I'm sure she's fine – she's in Sirius's care after all. Humming a song I'd been listening to today, I prepare for bed, perfectly content and thinking about what I'm going to do tomorrow on my day off. However, when I'm about to climb under the covers and go to sleep, Ainsley opens the door, and she looks distraught. I'm not used to seeing the expression on her face; for the past week, she's been nothing but sunny.

"Ainsley, what's wrong?" I ask. I can sense it won't be a trivial matter though.

She hugs her middle like she does whenever she wants to protect herself from a conversation she won't like. "Sirius," she manages to say shakily.

"What about him?" There's an urgency to find out what happened now – Ainsley looks like she might cry, which means the world might turn upside down.

She sits on her bed, her face tragic, and, with a tortured tone, she tells me in a little more than a whisper, "He broke up with me."

I almost fly to her side and hug her as tightly as I can. "What? Why? How?"

She swallows thickly and says in the same, nearly inaudibly voice, "He said he liked someone else – it was time to move on and see other people after only a week. That's why he arranged the walk tonight – he wanted to tell me that though he'd apparently enjoyed his time with me, there's some other girl he wants to snog."

I feel the violent urge to brutally murder Sirius; that's completely like him, to get a girl's hopes up and then crush them within a week with a lethal flippancy. "Ainsley, I'm so, so, so sorry."

"I am too." She was as close as she could get to intelligible speech without crying now. "I still can't even believe he broke it off – it's only been a week, and it was so sudden and unexpected. We hadn't fought or anything – we were happy. So what did I do wrong, Lily?"

Her face is in my shoulder, but I don't feel any tears on my shirt – that's odd. I lift her chin up so that I can see her face, and though her eyeballs are wet, no tears are coming out. There are only questions in her gray pupils – questions I don't have answers to.

"I don't think you did anything wrong, Ainsley," I tell her. "Sirius is just a stupid-ass loser; he's completely stupid to get rid of you like this."

"I gave him everything I had," she says, desperate passion in her tone of voice and in her face. "I trusted him. I thought he was different. I thought he loved me. I thought _I_ loved _him_. But it was never meant to be, and I was stupid enough to think it was." She bites her lips to keep her tears back. "I was right all along, and the one time I actually thought I could change my opinions for good, I find that I should just go with my first instincts."

I feel like I can cry myself as I hear the pain in her words, but I can't find the right words to say. I haven't been through a breakup – I can't really grasp what she's going through. I do the best I can though, by hugging her and trying to console her by saying things wouldn't be so bad in the morning. It doesn't work – Ainsley is upset as ever. She is cuddled up beside me, but I still can't understand why she isn't crying. I don't want her to or anything; I'm just wondering why she isn't. I know I would be bawling my eyes out if I loved someone as much as she did and they broke up with me.

I ask her that – "Ainsley, you look like you're about to cry, so why aren't you?"

"I refuse to, that's why," Ainsley says, her tone hardening for the first time as she finally starts to gain the upper hand over her grief. "I won't cry over something as inconsequential as a boy. I did once, and it was completely retarded; I'm not making that mistake again."

"Ainsley, please." I start to try pleading with her, but she cuts me off, sitting up straight without leaning on me as she had been.

"No, Lily." She looks at me firmly in the eye to show me she's not messing around. "Listen to me here, because this is the only time I'm going to say this: I'm done now. This week with Sirius was the best thing that has ever happened to me, I won't deny it, but all good things come to an end at some point, and my time is up. I wasn't made for love, and that's fine. I'm not going to be weepy, I'm not going to cry, and I'm not going to let this take me over. I learned what I had to learn – love is great when you've got it, but otherwise, it sucks. People are going to think I'm going to be some tragic, heartbroken little girl when they find out about this tomorrow, but just because they're going to think that, I'm going to prove that I'm better off without him. I suppose I am, because it's easier to be without him and move on than hold on to stupid little memories and wish things could have worked out."

I would have preferred tears to this heartbreakingly pessimistic and rebellious speech, and I tell her so, but she only shakes her head, her eyes fierce rather than distressed now.

"It hurts, but I'm not going to sit here and let everything wash over me," she says. "I'm going to outrun it, because that's at least _trying_ to do something. You watch me, Lils; Sirius was living proof that I can be wrong and right at the same time about love, and I'm going to use the knowledge to forget about him and live without a bloody _boy_ at my side." A fanatical gleam is visible among the double mess of emotions Ainsley's eyes have become. "I've loved, I've learned, and now I'm going to take over this whole damn world, just because I know I can."

To enhance her point, she gets into bed without changing into night-clothes or anything and pushes me into mine. She dives under the covers as I slip into mine, and I can swear I hear something that's almost like a sob from her bed. I know it's best to leave her alone though, because when Ainsley's crazy with feelings she can't possibly hold in, it's best to just back away slowly so that she can control herself without the lingering force that is me in the background.

Despite this, however, I don't get too much sleep tonight out of worry for my friend. She's unstable – she's been pushed off of a high place without being aware it was coming, and she's completely new to the idea of letting love in. Ainsley isn't exactly a rational person either; there's no telling what she might do now. I can't stop thinking about what I might do to help her – I'm her friend, the one who knows her the most in the school and it's my responsibility to get her through the ordeal.

And, judging from the lack of the usual light snoring that normally comes from Ainsley's bed every night, I'm not the only one lying awake and wondering what to do next in this unfortunate muddle.


	80. Three Day Update

It's been three days since Sirius broke up with Ainsley – three long, restless, and awful days. And, in that time, I have not seen Ainsley burst into tears; not even once.

She's been holding up amazingly. I don't know how the hell she can do it, but she is. The first day, she was quiet and reserved, which was expected, but the moment anyone asked her if she missed Sirius, she argued vehemently that she didn't miss him at all. The second day, she was less quiet, and even smiled during class. Now, today, the third day, she's laughing at jokes and starting to come back to the swing of things. I truly do admire her self-restraint; she sees Sirius and his new girlfriend, Michelle, together all the time, and she never even glares at her. Instead, she looks piteously at Michelle, and casts remarks about how Michelle's blonde, bubbly personality does not at all suit Sirius's darker, more sarcastic personality. She reckons Sirius will keep her for a week at most, like he had done for her, and then she'll be history.

I will never understand that girl – I swear it, I never will.

Still, even if bitter cynicism is how Ainsley plans on getting through, then so be it – it's better than seeing her do something idiotic and desperate.

I've been watching Sirius as closely as I've been watching Ainsley, however, over these three days, and I see something's different, but I can't quite put my finger on what it is about him. He's still annoying and flirtatious, as always, but there's something in the way he glances at me and Ainsley every so often that makes me question why he really broke up with her. He isn't terribly interested in Michelle, and it's obvious, but I just can't figure any of his intentions out. It's so bloody tiresome.

I sit in the common room, thinking about this while lying about on the sofa, when James approaches me and sits beside me. "Hey, Lil," he says. "A Sickle for your thoughts?"

I sigh. "Ainsley and Sirius."

"Oh, that." James sighs too. "I don't get it. I thought Sirius had finally found a girl he wanted to keep."

"Same," I say gloomily. "Now Ainsley's trying to avoid thinking about him by going back to her old philosophies about boys."

"Sad, isn't it?" His hand absentmindedly takes a lock of my hair and begins to play with it. "Love is such a crazy thing."

"It is," I agree, ignoring his fingers knotting into my hair. "She really thought she was going to have a happy ending. So much for that."

James stays silent for a moment, but then surprises me by asking, "If you were in love with someone who didn't love you back, would you continue to love them?"

I'm stumped. "Erm, what does this have to do with Ainsley and Sirius?"

"Nothing, and that's the point," he says. "I want to know about _you_. You're almost more upset about this than Ainsley is."

"Ainsley is a damn amazing actress then, because she's just about dying," I say. "But to answer your question, no, I wouldn't. If I'm not wanted, why should my feelings be thrown out anyway?"

"So you don't trust your impulses," he concludes.

"Not when they tell me to do something that will only ever cause heartbreak," I say. "Love is tricky, James, and if I don't feel ready for another relationship, I won't throw myself into one."

"What if you were massively in love with that person, and you'd do anything for them – anything," he says. "And every time you wanted to go out with them, they turned you down, it was for stupid reasons. Would you give up on them, or would you keep persisting, since you have this really good feeling it would work out perfectly if they gave you a chance?"

This all sounds familiar – too familiar. "Well, in that theoretical scenario, I would probably give up. What will happen will happen and there's nothing more annoying than someone who won't give up on an already decided matter."

James comes a little closer to me, his eyes probing for a different response. "Lily, what would you do if your best friend's ex-girlfriend's best friend was that crush you were trying to get to? Would you go for it?"

I lean in to him so that our noses are nearly touching, and I say, "No, I wouldn't."

I can see him trying to edge in for a kiss, so I put my mouth right by his, and whisper into his lips, "If you do this, I'm going to kick your arse, Potter. I've watched my best friend lose her relationship, and I'm not about to do the same thing."

He backs away after a moment, somewhat frightened, but he says one final thing before he leaves me alone: "Love isn't the same for everyone, Lil, and if you're going to base your entire opinion on something so complex on just one instance, then you're never going to get what you want. You look everywhere for the thing you're looking for, but you're utterly blind to the fact that the gold mine is right under your nose. Think about it."

I attempt to _not_ think about it, just because he asked me to, but I find that I can't stop trying to decipher what he was trying to say to me. Was it that in the midst of Ainsley's emotional trauma, he expects me to return his feelings and love him back?

I dismiss the speculation at once; I don't think even James Potter could be dumb enough to ask me to do something like that.


	81. Balloons

_A/N: This short is, to me, utter crap, but I need to get this version up, otherwise I won't finish it; consequently, I won't finish this story, and that's bad. So this is my last dominantly Ainsley/Sirius short here, I promise.

* * *

_

On Saturday, it is the one-week anniversary of Sirius breaking up with Ainsley. She told me in the morning, as we got ready for class, but there was not even a hint of sadness in her voice – it was all in her eyes instead. I patted her on the back before I left; what else could I do? If I tried to be sorry about the break-up, she'd get annoyed and say she was fine – why was I sorry? However, if I said nothing, I'd feel insensitive, which I wouldn't like at all. Ainsley can be rather difficult to live with sometimes.

In the afternoon, after watching the Gryffindors rot with uncharacteristic boredom all day, James announces that we are going to throw a party in the evening, just because we can. It's something to do, so the entire House rallies around him and helps him get the party ready. I don't know how he manages to control all of them this way – it's kind of disconcerting, really – but he does it anyway, and I simply stay out of the way so that I don't have to participate.

Once party time hits though, all hell breaks loose in our previously quiet common room – music, dancing, screaming, it was all there in full force. I lose any flicker of interest I might have had before and start searching for Ainsley, who had mysteriously disappeared the moment Sirius and Michelle came out with firewhiskey they had stolen from some place.

I check over the castle for the millionth time, wondering why my friend liked to wander whenever she needed thinking time. It made looking for her very inconvenient. When I can't find her anywhere inside, I begin checking around the grounds outside. I spot her the moment my eyes sweep over the front lawns – Ainsley is sitting in the grass, holding a red balloon, and is tying something to it. I have no idea what she could be doing; I call her name, sit down beside her, and ask what she's doing.

"I'm letting go," Ainsley says simply.

"What do you mean?" I inquire.

"I'm letting go of Sirius," she clarifies. "That's what the balloon is for." She shows me a piece of parchment, which has a long, long list scribbled on it, and demonstrates how she's charmed it to stick to the balloon. "The list is all the good things about Sirius, as well as all the stupid little jokes we made. I'm going to let the balloon go right now, and with it goes every ounce of love I ever felt for him. It'll get carried away by the wind, never to come back to me, and maybe – just maybe – I can start to forget about whatever the hell it was that we had."

I bite my lip and watch as she prepares to let the balloon go, but when she's just about to let it slip from her fingers, I put my hand on top of hers and let it fly with her. She half-smiles wistfully at me and lays her head on my shoulder again, like she had the night she told me about what Sirius had done. My arm goes around her shoulder, and together, we silently watch the balloon float serenely into the clouds until we can't see it anymore. Ainsley sighs heavily, and I bring her a little closer to me; I can feel that she doesn't want to let him go at all, but she knows she has to. Everyone has to let go some time.

We sit outside for about a half hour, just looking above at the blanket of stars and sky and thinking. I think about the balloon Ainsley had sent up. She had written everything on there – every sweet thing he'd done for her, every joke she had made with him, a tally mark for every time he had kissed her – but she was willing to let all of the priceless memories she had made during that short amount of time go out to the heavens? Did she really want to throw everything that had represented love and happiness with another person away?

The noises from the Gryffindor common room are audible even from the grounds, I realize; life is still going on, quite loudly at that. That strikes me powerfully – that even though it feels like my small world has come to a complete stop with all of these strange events, the rest of the world goes on anyway. It's a reassurance that things will be okay soon, but it's also a bit unfair – why does everything else have to be dandy while Ainsley and I aren't sure what we're doing anymore?

Ainsley gets up at last though, and says that she's in the mood for some tea and bed. I say that sounds lovely – we stop by the kitchens, get tea, and go back to our dormitory. Ainsley drinks hers quickly and finishes within ten minutes, but I take baby sips like I usually do. We are silent, lost in our own thoughts; that is, until my eyelids start to droop, and Ainsley asks me one last question that's been on her mind:

"Lily, do you think that Sirius ever _really_ loved me the way I loved him?"

I pretend to be asleep so that I don't have to answer this question. Why? Because I don't know for sure, and the answer I did have was probably not one she wanted to hear at the moment.

Stupid, damn Sirius, I think grumpily. Why did you have to destroy my best friend like this?


	82. Quidditch Misadventure

_A/N: You know what? This thousand words thing is not working for me – you're going to have to stick to these slightly-over-a-thousand-words shorts now, because I can't shorten them. I like this one though (unlike the last one), so I hope you enjoy it too!

* * *

_

At last, the first Quidditch game of the season has arrived – it is this afternoon, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, as always, since they are the most competitive. I was considering not going, but Ainsley wouldn't hear it – she insists that I must go with her. She claims to need something wholesome to do (which I do agree with), but she claims that I need that wholesome thing as well (which I don't agree with); because of that, I am dragged outside clad in all Gryffindor colors.

The things I do for my best friend…

However, if I thought that _I_ was overdressed, it was nothing compared to Ainsley. She had smeared yellow and red face paint on her face, worn a red and yellow sweatshirt she'd decorated exclusively for Quidditch games, red pants, and yellow shoes. I tried to tell her earlier that it was not a good idea to go so overboard, but she insisted that I do not understand Quidditch and therefore should not try to dictate what is overboard and what is not.

I left it at that.

So, today, I trudge outside to the stands while Ainsley positively _leaps_; she's about as excited for this match as she was when Sirius first kissed her. She and James have that mad drive for Quidditch in common, except that Ainsley doesn't play for the House Team; if she did, she would have tried out to be a Beater. It's a good position for her – Ainsley could easily whack those Bludgers into next week if given even half a chance.

We take our seats at the top, as usual, and wait for the teams to come out. The Slytherins come first, and Ainsley promptly begins to boo them at the top of her voice, which is much louder today than it is normally. Several Slytherin supporters look strangely at her, but she simply gives them a glare, warning them not to take her on. As if they'd dare – Ainsley can be frightening when she roots for a cause enough, and they know it.

When the Gryffindors enter, Ainsley stands up and starts stomping her feet in celebration. I try to hide from her – she's so obnoxious during games, it's humiliating to anyone sitting near her. I try to pull her arm to make her sit down, but she shakes me off impatiently, still shouting encouragement to the seven maroon boys and girls on the field.

Please, let some lightning come down and strike me to save me from this.

Finally, the game begins, and so does a relentless flow of remarks from Ainsley's mouth. She gets so into these things, it's scary; she's trying to be their coach and cheerleader from the top stand in the stadium. I attempt to fade into the background behind her, but I'm not doing a good job – I know people can see me. I beg the lightning to come for the second time, but to no avail.

During the duration of the game, I'm able to (somewhat) tune Ainsley out as I myself get caught up in the animation and anticipation of the end results. The teams are neck and neck in points (a hundred and twenty to a hundred and ten, Gryffindor ahead by one because of – of course – James Potter) and tempers are running quite high. The Gryffindor Seeker is looking everywhere for the Snitch to secure a victory, but the Slytherin Seeker is tailing him from behind, so that he doesn't have to find the ball himself. Useless arse. The moment I mutter this, Ainsley hears me, and starts bellowing it at the guy. At this point, I must consciously stop myself from whipping my wand out and stunning her.

Then, out of the blue, the Gryffindor Seeker finds the Snitch! He dives for it, the Slytherin one right behind him, and the school is at its feet, trying hard to see what's going on down there. James, in the mean time, flies up to the stands where I am sitting and grins at me. I, on the other hand, am scandalized.

"You are supposed to be _playing_, you bloody fool," I lecture him. "Why are you up here?"

"Because the game is ours, and we have to other Chasers if there's a need for more points," he says soothingly. "I'm allowed to slack right now."

"You slack on your homework, you slack on responsibilities, you slack on Quidditch – what _don't _you slack on?" I hiss.

He laughs. "You're so funny, Lily."

I reach over and smack his arm. "You're so hopeless, James."

While I'm doing this though, I hear a deafeningly loud chorus of cheers – it can only mean the Snitch was caught. And, oddly, I don't care; James is next to me, clapping, while Ainsley is screaming, and I'm only watching James rather than clapping/screaming with them. He's overjoyed – even his hair is dancing in the wind – and I'm caught up in his smile. This can't be normal; I try to shake myself out of it, but I find that I can't. Damn.

He surprises me during the time when I'm staring at him too – he seizes my shoulders, alarming me, and plants an enormous kiss right on the side of my face. He lets me sit back down, hardly aware of what he's done to me with his delight, and flies down to the ground, shouting jubilantly, to join his teammates. I, however, am stunned.

Ainsley ignores me as she screams profanities at the Slytherin team, James ignores me as he and the Gryffindors pile into a group hug, and no one else gives me a second look because of their varying emotions on the match. That leaves me to touch my cheek where his lips met it in wonderment; did he really kiss me out of adrenaline from the game and the victory? Did he really kiss me, period? Yes, he definitely had; my cheek is tingling. But what do _I _think about it?

I give myself a minute to think about that as the student body starts pouring back into the castle, since no one is watching me. And, while they're still not watching me, I allow myself to whisper very, very, _very_ softly:

"I liked it when James Potter kissed me."

No one heard me. No one cared. No one would spread the news around. No one would even know that he kissed me, because no one had been turned my way. The kiss was a secret, and that, I determine as I go up to the common room to rejoice, is the way I always want it to be.


	83. What Hurts the Most

_A/N: I lied – __this__is my last Ainsley/Sirius dominance short. It's long, and it's pretty sad too, at least to me. Title of the short comes from the song by the Rascal Flatts.

* * *

_

On Sunday, Ainsley and I go to The Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer, just because we can. Ainsley's homework is actually finished for once, and she wants to congratulate herself for it; and, of course, who am I to deny the pilgrimage to the village for something yummy? We leave, chatting about how tiresome it is to eat peanut butter when there's caramel available (don't ask).

Once at the pub, Ainsley and I grab a table and buy some butterbeer to sip at. While we drink though, Sirius approaches us; it is the first time he's come to speak to Ainsley since he broke up with her. She knows this; her eyes narrow the moment he comes into her field of vision, and she is careful to keep her image cooled and unruffled.

"Hey," Sirius greets us lamely.

"Hey," Ainsley and I say simultaneously, both astonished and uncomprehending.

"Lily, I kind of wanted to talk to Ainsley alone," he says to me, somewhat embarrassed for what is probably the first time in his entire life.

"Bullshit," Ainsley claims at once. "Anything you say to me can be said in front of my best friend; so if you have something to tell me, spill, and if not, leave. Don't you have some sort of life to lead?"

Direct and to the point as always – Ainsley has made it crystal clear that she's not going to give Sirius any kind of special treatment, which is exactly the way to go.

Sirius considers this for a moment, but says, "All right then, you can stay, Evans. Anyway, I wanted to say that I broke up with Michelle a few days ago."

"So?" Ainsley raises an eyebrow, the vision of near-perfect nonchalance. The only giveaway is that tiny glimmer of softness in her eyes – the glimmer that can only be seen if someone knows exactly where to look.

"So I wanted to confess that I was completely stupid to break up with you and ask if you wanted to get a coffee with me today," Sirius finishes, making sure to keep eye contact. No doubt, he knows that if Ainsley keeps eye contact, she will be more likely to listen to what he's saying. What he _doesn't_ know is that every part of him that Ainsley had willingly breathed in had been exhaled the moment she saw him with Michelle for the first time.

Wait, was it? I can't be sure, because Ainsley freezes up when he says this; I watch her carefully, trying to predict what her response might be. She forms one for roughly twenty seconds, but then her eyes soften and she says, in a much gentler tone, "I don't know, Sirius."

Inspired, Sirius says, "I love you, Ainsley, and I'm sorry."

I find myself rendered speechless – was Sirius truly capable of meaning something like that? The last time he had said he loved her, he dumped her and took another girl. Ainsley bites her lip; her eyes are completely softened now, and she takes a deep breath before speaking again.

"No," she says, avoiding that eye contact. "No, Sirius, I don't want to get involved with you anymore."

_Huh?_

"You don't?" Sirius is genuinely stunned, as am I.

"I don't," she confirms for both of us, her tone careful so that she doesn't sound as emotional as she probably is. "To me, love is an everlasting commitment, not one that goes for a week and then breaks apart. But to you, love is just a word – a word used to lure another girl to you so that you can break her heart whenever you next decide to. I don't want to be another tick mark on your bedpost, Sirius; I think I'm worth more than that."

Sirius and I are completely noiseless. Ainsley is looking at Sirius, her eyes shining with tears that she will later refuse to shed, but Sirius's eyes are dry – just astonished. He asks her, "Then what do you want me to do, Ainsley?"

"Stop putting me in a position that compromises what I believe in," she bursts out, even closer to tears. "I don't believe in loving you anymore."

They stare at each other for what could have been hours, but was probably closer to minutes. Sirius's eyes are unreadable, but Ainsley's are overflowing with anguish – anguish she wants him to see. Like she said – to him, she was just another girl, another mark for his bedpost, but her emotions went much deeper than that, and he was incapable of comprehending what that meant. He'd stumbled on to something real, a girl who cared about him, but he was doing a poor job of finding out how to handle it.

Finally, he moved his hand towards Ainsley's and strokes it very gently before turning away and leaving. He didn't say a word, but his silence spoke volumes; I see a quick flash of Ainsley's pained face before she puts her head down. I rub her back and try to make her sit up, but she won't – I'm getting the impression that everything she's been hiding from over the past couple of weeks is catching up in that one gesture, and it's killing her.

After a couple of minutes though, she resurfaces, and I can see a single tear on her cheek – just one. She wipes it away and sips her butterbeer again, miserable. I polish mine off and watch her push her mug away half-finished; then I ask her quietly, "Are you all right?"

She nods slowly with a sniff. "Yes, I'm all right. And if I'm not, I will be."

"Sure?" I wish she'd stop saying she was all right – I know that she's not, even if she pretends to be.

"Yes." She smiles a ghost of her usual cheeky grin. "C'mon; I want some Honeydukes – I think chocolate is calling out to me."

"Let's get some then." I smile too, but it's not sincere – it's just one I'm using to make her think that I'm not worried sick about what's going on in her head. We go to Honeydukes, talking just for the sake of talking, but I just want to know two things:

Will Ainsley ever be okay?  
What is "okay" these days anyway?


	84. What is this Feeling?

Today, I have managed to confuse myself. Again.

See, James wanted to take me out again – he seems to think that our first date was brilliant and he wants to try it again. I disagreed right away, but he tried to convince me that I should as always. Obviously, I declined; why wouldn't I after all? Just because I liked a kiss he gave me as a spur-of-the-moment type of thing, it doesn't mean I'm going to be in his pocket all the time. I told him that, and though he was clearly aggravated, he left it there; however, when I tell Ainsley a little later, she nearly falls off her chair in the common room.

"Why did you tell him that?" she demands. "You are utterly in love with him, and I _know_ you had fun on your date."

"Why do you keep telling me that?" I ask. "I'm not in love with him!"

Ainsley lets out the most enormous snort I've ever heard in my lifetime when she hears me say this; she might have been in danger of releasing a snot rocket or something. "You are, and you know it. Somewhere, somehow, Lily Evans, you have managed to fall in love with him."

"I haven't," I object. "I…I don't know what I think about him anymore. I haven't wanted to kill him, but I don't want to be his friend either."

"Of course you don't want to be his friend," Ainsley says. "You want to be much more than that, even though you don't want to say it."

I'm baffled; sure, my hatred for James has begun to blur around the edges, but that didn't really mean I was in love. Wasn't love supposed to be a sweep-you-off-your-feet-you-know-it's-the-right-guy kind of a deal? Love couldn't be the strange drifting I've been doing.

"Ainsley, I'm not in love," I say. "I suppose he's grown on me a _little_ bit, but that doesn't mean I'm going to put myself into a relationship with him."

"You've dated him, and you've kissed him – I'd say you're pretty damn close to getting into a relationship," Ainsley says matter-of-factly.

"Hold on there, Miss Matchmaker," I say. "I dated him because I was trying to help _you_. I kissed him because he was doing mouth-to-mouth to me when I choked on a muffin. Those hardly count."

"They do," she says. "You could have thrown the world's biggest fit when he went out with you, like you usually do, but you didn't. The kiss – you could have given him hell for putting his mouth on you, but you didn't."

"He saved my life; I kind of owed him," I point out.

"Touché," Ainsley says. "But really, Lil – I think you're in love, and you should accept his offer to go out with him."

I raise my eyebrow. "This coming from a girl who makes it her duty to wage a personal war against the whole world," I point out.

She sighs. "Let's not make this about me – we're talking about how you finally a good guy, and how you should go to him and tell him that you love him."

"I don't think he's the right one for me," I say. "He's _James Potter_, Ainsley; his type and mine should not get along. He should like me, and I shouldn't…feel whatever it is that I feel for him."

"Look Lil, it's not guaranteed that the relationship will work, but you've got to take a chance," she says.

"You did, and look at you," I say. "You couldn't even get out of bed for a few days."

"I probably shouldn't have let myself go like that, but the fact of the matter is that I did take that leap of faith eventually, and even though I didn't get a soft landing, I enjoyed what I did get – a story to remember, a joke to share, an experience to treasure."

"You're a lot more thoughtful now," I note after a moment. It's true; there was a time when, if I had told her what I'm telling her now, she would have laughed in my face and called me a twit.

"I've learned to trust – I didn't trust people much before," she says honestly. "Besides, I'm only deep when I'm around you – otherwise I'm sarcastic, fairly bitchy Ainsley again." She grins. "My mum always told me that I had a multiple personality order that never got diagnosed."

I laugh bitterly. "Stop being comedic, Ainsley."

"Sorry," she apologizes swiftly. "But take my advice – at the very least, you'll get to say you tried; you won't have to wonder what could have been."

I bite my lip. "I think I'll settle with wondering."

"Then why are we even having this conversation?" Ainsley asks with a smirk.

I sigh once more; this is why I hate talking to Ainsley about feelings – she's so direct with emotion and personality analysis that I feel uncomfortable. I'm also quite astonished by the suggestions she's trying sell me – shouldn't she be telling me that love is pain, that it's not worth it? Instead, she simply wants me to do the reckless thing – it's so typical of her, but so uncharacteristic at the same time. It's the essence of Ainsley mixed in with something so much wiser.

I never thought she would, but my best friend – the girl who believed in cooties far longer than every other girl would – has really matured.

But what about me? As I retreat to the dormitory to do my homework, I ponder. Am _I_ more mature? Have _I_ gone through the mental metamorphosis that Ainsley has gone through? Am I truly as "in love" as Ainsley has dubbed me to be? These questions buzz through my mind like a swarm of mosquitoes, refusing to leave without an answer.

So this is the answer I end up giving: I have absolutely no idea.


	85. Red & Black

After my conversation with Ainsley, I knew I had to do this. It's lame, it's stupid, and utterly childish, but it's necessary – what can I do about it besides grit my teeth and do it?

I sigh, and seat myself on my bed with my Potions scales and a variety of Muggle checkers pieces; I am about to put in a checker for every good or bad thing about James Potter so that I can see if the good outweighs the bad or vice versa.

I take a deep breath of preparation; I can be honest with those thoughts that I'm ashamed of having in the privacy of my dormitory at two in the morning. So I take the first checker; it is black, and it signifies a bad thing about James. That should be easy enough. I decide to go with his natural affinity to arrogance to start.

Bad – one. Good – none. Excellent.

After another minute, I put three more black checkers – one for his annoying persistence, one for the state of his hair (I get an internal ache every time I see how messy it is – no joke), and another for his social stupidity.

Bad things – four. Good things – zip. This is going well so far.

Okay, so maybe I haven't tried to think about the good things yet. I'll try to, to be fair. What's a good thing about James, I ask myself. His smile is my first thought – it's a cheeky smile, but it takes my breath away every time I see it.

Ugh; eww. I grudgingly put in a red checker.

What else is good about him?

My next thought is the power of his eyes. I've been forced to look into them several times, but they never ceased to amaze me every single one of those times. They are definitely an asset to him – I can never hate him when those beautiful eyes are working unfairly effective charms on my mind.

A red checker goes in.

I rack my brains – what else is good or bad about him? I need more reasons to make it a valid exercise. I lie back on my pillow, thinking about him so that I could get something else to pick on.

Ten unsuccessful minutes later, I have nothing bad to say about him anymore. Those four reasons were the only bad things I had to say about him – I find that odd. I'd nursed such a deep detestation for him for years, and it was only because of four reasons? It was almost silly; I couldn't believe I didn't have anything else to say about his faults.

So what about the good things? I start focusing on them, and I come up with two more – the way he helps me whenever he thinks I need it, and the simple, but provocative statements that he presents me with every once in a while.

Four and four – it's a tie.

I exhale roughly with frustration; this is _not _working out. James is the most irritating creature in the world;this confusion is why I hate him so much.

Oh! A black checker opportunity! I drop it in with an irrationally savage pleasure – five to four. Ha.

Ugh; not anymore. I suddenly recall that kiss at the Quidditch match. How much I liked it. How much I'd been thinking about it. How much I wish I could make myself let him give me another one. I grudgingly put a red checker on my scale – he has the ability to make me question myself over a bloody kiss. That's a talent.

Five to five. Damn; another tie.

Now I start thinking harder – I need a really, really good reason to be my last, whether it's good or bad. I close my eyes and bring the image of James's face to attention in my brain. I smile; I suppose he's _kind _of cute. I won't tell anyone I think so, but he is. It's just a fact I'm not proud of – a dirty little secret. I mull over my feelings for him – explore every inch of them. They're not dripping with hate anymore, like they used to be. Over these months, they've started to smear into a collection of feelings that aren't quite hate, but not quite love either. What are they then?

Hang on there – I might actually know the answer to this one. The memory of our forced date hits me, and an avalanche of emotion floods my poor, overwrought brain. Laughter, admiration, overpowering affection – things I'd never felt for him before fill my stomach and lungs, so much so that I feel like I'm drowning. The group of feelings from there would classify as a red checker, I reason. In goes a red checker.

Six to five. My deadline is up, and the good has proven to outweigh the bad. Oh Merlin, no. No, it can't be happening. I stare at the checkers, wishing they could switch colors. They don't. I can make them, but it would be a sham – a pathetic attempt to avoid the truth. The good outweighs the bad; with a sick, awful clarity, I realize that this proves the previous hypothesis that I like James Potter.

I clear away the scale, repeating the awful truth to myself. I like James Potter. I like James Potter. I like James Potter. I want to kill myself for it, but I like James Potter. I get into bed, repeating the phrase over and over, like an incantation of the worst kind. I like James Potter. I like James Potter. I like James Potter.

No, wait, that's not the truth. What is it again? Oh yeah – it's that I don't really like him; in reality, I think I _love_ James Potter.

I groan into the darkness as I shut my eyes for the night; oh bloody hell.


	86. Coming Undone

_A/N: It is only now that I realize how much my pacing sucks if I wanted to stop at only 100 shorts. Now, Lily's going to be kind of rushing into love here, and there will be only about nine cutesy, romantic shorts for them as a couple. Just bear with me here – I hope it works out at the end.

* * *

_

I am quite literally killing myself over stupid, bloody James Potter.

I can't eat anymore. I'm perpetually sleep deprived. I'm not capable of working either. I'm barely talking, even to Ainsley, which is starting to scare her. I wonder how I'm even breathing. I'm having a particularly awful time today during dinner; my stomach is upset, so I'm just picking at my food. Sometimes, my fork comes to my mouth, but then I put it down again. I don't know why loving James is making me feel so depressed and lousy, but I just am. Ainsley says I can't exist like this – I have to be happy, I have to _live_.

I suppose I just can't do that any more.

I just don't understand how he does it. The way a leech does, he's hung on to the vulnerable edge that accidentally slipped out, and he always seems to be pulling at it. At first, that part was too tightly lodged into the rest of my strengths to make a difference. Now though, it's loosened from all the tugging, and now it's starting to come apart. Just like the single knot of thread being the catalyst to the unweaving of an entire shirt, James is pulling everything I knew apart. My brain has gone into a civil – or should I say mental – war against itself, and it's bloody scaring me. Now I have the same fate as the shirt at the end – a mix of yarn that has no hope of being put together the same way again.

I hate this – the yearning, the pain, the confusion, the unpredictability, the non-logic of it all. Therefore, I hate _him_. But I love him so much that I hate myself for hating him. Then I hate every single bit of this bloody puzzle just because I prefer it when things make sense. By that point, my head hurts, and then I have to start the thought process all over again, only to get the same nonsensical results.

It's maddening; I have never wished I was someone else as many times as I have within the past few days.

I shouldn't even be feeling like this. I shouldn't be catapulted into this world of feelings that I never belonged in. The crazy contradictions are for girls who can't handle themselves. I was always able to handle myself! I didn't even consciously like the bloody boy until very recently – if ever, I should be contradicting myself _later_, as in _a few months later_. Not now. Not the way I am.

I suppose not though; I've managed to let myself successfully come undone. Lo and behold, I don't even know what I'm supposed to do with myself anymore. Only James can sew my yarn back together, and I can't stand that. He's become _almost_ – not quite, but _almost_ – like a friend to me now, and feeling anything romantic towards him will become far too awkward. I almost wish he was in love with me again, so that while he tries to ask me out, I can put on another show, but say yes, so that I don't have to make the first move myself like I sense I'm going to have to. It's awful – I shouldn't wish that at all – but I do, and now it's not like I can ask him become the arrogant pest that I've trained him to stop being.

It truly is the irony of life – I slapped him across his face so many times for caring about me, and now, when it would really help me if he cared about me that way again, my past history comes back to me like that slap on the face.


	87. Words of Wisdom

Tonight, after a particularly awful day of forcing myself to be normal again, I know what I must do; armed with a defiance to match even Sirius Black's, I corner Ainsley just before bed in our dormitory.

"Ainsley, I need to talk to you," I say determinedly.

"Sure," she says, the polar opposite of me as always as she skips to her bed to listen to me. "What's up?"

I sigh. "Will you promise you won't laugh at me?"

"Scout's honor." She offers me her right hand, chortling.

I give her a desperate look. "This isn't the time to tease me."

She realizes this, and immediately says, in a much more genuine tone, "I'm sorry. What was it that you wanted to tell me?"

"Do you remember how it felt to love Sirius?" I ask her.

Perhaps it's just me, but Ainsley stops for the briefest second with this flash of agony in her eyes before saying very carefully, "Yes, I do remember how that felt."

"All the confusion, all the contradiction, that sense of not feeling like you'll be _enough _for him?" I say hopefully.

"Yes," she says slowly, irately, as though wishing I could move on from describing her previous experiences.

"I'm feeling that now," I say. "It's so fast – it's almost unreal. Like a whirlwind, everything is just enveloping around me and I can't understand why I'm feeling the way I do. I have never loved anyone like this."

"It sucks, I know," Ainsley says sympathetically. "Who do you love, Lils?"

I bite my lip. "This is where you can't laugh at me."

"Why would I do that? I am your best friend," she says. "Not only that, but I know exactly what you're going through – I'd be a major bitch and a hypocrite if I laughed at you."

I take a celebratory breath of relief. "Okay. Well…it's…oh, Ainsley, I'm in love with James Bloody Potter." I fall back on my bed, hiding my face behind my hands. "There, I've said it; please don't make me say it again. Yet."

"Lily, that's a _good_ thing," Ainsley says joyfully from above me. She pries my hands away from my face and beams at me. "I knew it! You did love him after all."

"It's horrible," I complain. "I don't want to love him! I didn't even _know_ I loved him until about four nights ago. And even then, I used checkers to balance out the good and the bad about him before I realized it."

She giggles, but resumes her seriousness right away. "Lils, I know, it sucks, but I'm surprised – I didn't start dying until a little while after I found out I loved him."

"I thought that that was how it was supposed to work," I say. "Apparently not."

"Love doesn't happen the same way for all of us," she says fairly. "If it happened to you like it did to me, nature must be feeling pretty unoriginal, so it's good that it was different."

I sigh for the second time. "I suppose. But I really do hate this Ainsley – what did you do to get through it?"

"Isn't it weird how _I_ get to give the love advice now?" She grins. "I kind of like it. But anyway, what I did was just remind myself that Sirius isn't my whole world – there are other things to do and think about. It's like…it's like when you're doing a huge pile of homework, since you're a workaholic. You work through it little by little, forcing yourself to keep pushing and it'll all be over soon. Eventually, it becomes easier, since you're more used to it, and you won't have to be so conscious when convincing yourself to keep going."

I smirk at the workaholic slight, but smile with more gratefulness otherwise. "So you just kept forcing yourself to do other things?"

"Yeah," she says simply. "It's just love, Lily. You can choose to let it take over your life, or you fight against your damn hormones and keep it healthy. So far, the hormones have the reigns on your brain – fix it."

I nod; she's right. She's very right, actually. Since when did Ainsley get so knowledgeable about this sort thing? I don't ask though – I just say, "Right. Control hormones – I got it. Thanks a bunch, Ainsley."

"No problem." She beams as she slides under her covers, but my expression is a little less than delighted as I follow her example. Asking Ainsley how to deal with this insanity has definitely helped – I will never deny that – but it's left me a little more apprehensive about my feelings. Is it _right_ for them to be so strong at such an early stage? Is it _right_ to be so in love with a boy I had vowed to always hate? Is it _right_ to think so obsessively about this matter?

I think the answer to all of those questions is a no, but what can I do? I confirm it for myself as I close my eyes to tempt some sleep into me tonight – none of this makes any bloody sense, so let's just see how it goes for a bit before I do anything else.


	88. Loves Him, Loves Him Not

Today is Saturday, so I have a day off – thank goodness. But what do I inevitably do on this day off? Think about James, of course; good answer. However, this morning, what I do is hunt for flowers near the Hogwarts greenhouses and take them all back into my dormitory to dump on my bed. I don't even know how many I collected – there are just a lot of them. I then lie on my stomach across my bed, holding the first flower tentatively in my hands. I am bored, not desperate, and this is necessary, not idiotic, I try to convince myself. I have little luck – my brain is not fooled at all – but I proceed anyway.

I take a breath, and then pull the first petal off. "I love him." I take the second one off. "I love him not."

No, I'm not lame! If I was truly lame, I would be asking the lifeless flower whether or not James Potter, a complex (even if rather stupid) human being, loved me. Instead, I'm asking the lifeless flower if I love him, which is a question I at least know the answer to – I'm just having a last attempt at prompting fate to tell me that I don't actually love James.

Fate is obviously not listening to me.

Anyway, I continue to pull petals off the poor flower – I love him, I love him not. I love him, I love him not. Mmmmm…if only I could say I did love him without feeling like I'll get sick all over the floor. That would be nice – in a perfect world, I could do that easily.

However, we don't live in a perfect world; hence, I am sitting inside on a Saturday afternoon picking at flower petals. I'm utterly brilliant.

I finish the first flower with an almighty sigh – I ended on I love him not. Of course that bothers me. Of course I'm not going to like it. But, I also know that if it landed on 'I love him,' I wouldn't like that either, so I just take the next flower. I love him, I love him not. I love him, I love him not. I love him, I love him not.

By the time I'm finished with this second flower (I landed on 'I love him' this time), I know that this is going to be a very, _very_ long day.

-x x x-

At about four o'clock in the afternoon, Ainsley enters the dormitory – she had spent the day outside, swimming in the lake, even though the weather is not exactly ideal just yet for such behavior. But then again, when had Ainsley ever cared about trifle things like colds from swimming in the lake when she wasn't supposed to? She comes into the room, wet and smiling, but she stops short at the door when she surveys the scene inside.

I don't blame her; I am lying with my head lolling off the side of my bed, surrounded by the Mount Everest of petals, and looking almost drunk since I've been doing at my flower-picking for around four hours by this point.

"Lily, are you all right?" she asks, concerned as she edges towards me.

"No," I moan.

"You don't look it." She steps around the flowers and joins me on my bed. "Remember what I said about going crazy being a choice? You're making the wrong one here – fix it."

I shake my head. "I can't help it. It just _hurts_, Ainsley – every single part of me is aching."

"You think I don't know that?" she asks, a steely look in her eyes. "You think I don't know what it's like to be addicted to a bloody boy who probably shouldn't even be on your mind? You think I don't know that it's like fire in your veins when you're thinking about him?"

"You do know it, and much better than I do, but I'm not you," I say softly. "I don't have that willpower you possess in such enormous quantities. I'm not brave like you are. I'm just me, and 'me' simply can't follow through with this."

"You can and you will." Ainsley sits me up. "Listen to me now – clean up this mess of flowers and get a grip on yourself. This is _not_ the end of the world. You are in love with him – you have to be able to say that freely, otherwise none of this is ever going to work, and it'll kill you more. You're in love with him, but it's not going to take over your life. You have a dignity and independence to protect, so protect it. Then you're going to stop bitching in here when you have time to do other things – it's not going to help. Understand?"

"Yeah," I say, alarmed.

Reading my mind correctly, Ainsley says, "I'm sorry I'm being harsh, but it's the only way to get you off your arse and doing something that's a better use of your time, Lil. It took all my strength to get out of bed every day, and if I can be the voice of reason for you so that you don't do what I did, I will be."

"I appreciate that," I say, waving my wand and cleaning up the flowers, attempting to keep that grip on myself. "No more bitching – got it."

She smiles slightly. "Good. Now, I need a shower, so go find us a table in The Three Broomsticks and wait for me – I want a butterbeer."

"Fine," I say in what I hope is an offhand tone. She buys it and heads into the bathroom, but I leave at my own leisurely pace. Ainsley's sudden commanding of my actions did kind of scare me, but I realize that she's right – stewing (or, as she puts it, bitching) about my situation isn't going to do me a damn thing. I have to protect my independence, and now that I know how, I will.

Because, as Ainsley just indirectly told me; maybe falling in love isn't a choice, but the way one falls in love _is_ a choice, and making the wrong one can make all the difference in the world.


	89. A Moment of Weakness

_A/N: This short (or, more like chapter, since it's so long) is not what it seems. Wait two more shorts before you decide __anything__. Thanks in advance. :)

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It's early evening, and since the weather is astonishingly nice, I go outside to enjoy it. It's actually a wonderful representation of my current mood – still, overcast, and restlessly warm. I sit by the lake, watching the water, a melancholy gloom settling in my chest. Ainsley has diagnosed me with love-trauma and advised me to do something fun and reckless for no reason; I chose not to – instead, I am outside and _no_t risking my neck. She doesn't know about this, but I know that she would disapprove. Ainsley's method of avoiding pain is to run away from it – mine is to lie down, let it come to me, and hope it will go away soon. It's pathetic, but to each her own, I've always said.

While I sit and ponder the matter and other related ones, I hear someone approaching; I turn around and see the dark silhouette of a tall athlete with a body to die for. When he comes a little closer, I see that it's just James. Fantastic.

He sits down beside me and says, "Hey." His tone is passive – something I've never heard from him.

"Hey," I say back. Even to my own ears, I sound like something is wrong.

"I never really got a chance to tell you this, since you've been a bit distant with me lately, but I'm really sorry about Sirius's conversation with Ainsley in Hogsmeade," he says, straight to the point as always. "I know that you hate seeing her sad."

"Of course I do," I say. "She's my best friend – her pain hurts me too. But it's really nothing to worry about anymore; she's completely over it, and I know now that love is utterly stupid."

"No, no it's not," James says at once. "It does hurt, and it can be unfair and/or irrational, but it's anything but stupid, Lily."

I raise m eyebrows; those are the most insightful words I've ever heard come out of his mouth. "It's stupid and you know it."

"Lil, I'm the first to know that caring about someone is pretty damn hard," eh says, his eyes as passionate as Ainsley's can get when she's confessing something. "But even though I don't have anything to show for my beliefs, I know it'll all be okay."

"I don't want to love," I tell him. "I don't want what happened to Ainsley."

"It's a risk you have to take," he says. "When you love someone, let them know. Life won't always give you a second chance if you miss your first."

"Wait, what are you trying to say here?" I ask. I have a sudden idea about why this conversation is going the way it is, and I hope I'm wrong.

"Don't be so obtuse, Lily," James tells me. "You always say _I'm_ stupid – for someone so smart, you're not clicking with a very simple concept."

"So spare me the trouble and just say what you have to say," I demand.

"I love you, Lily Evans," he finally bursts out. "After all you've done to me and said to me, I love you, all right?"

I bite my lip; I'd been right after all. "James…" I'm about to say something, but my voice trails off as he comes a little closer to me. Does he know that I've mysteriously stopped breathing?

I stand up at once and take a few steps away from him, my back to the water. "Stop it," I say. "Don't get any closer – do you hear me?"

"I know you feel _something_ when you look at me," he says, coming even closer, eyes resembling melted gemstones.

"Maybe I do," I say, promptly taking another step back. "But you can't know that for sure."

His hand grabs on to mine as I fight him off in vain. "Lily," he says my name determinedly.

"James." I try to be just as firm as he is, but I sound more like I'm whining. I take yet another step back, and find that I'm very close to the water's edge. James knows that too, but it doesn't stop him from trying to kiss me again. I attempt to go back again, but I end up toppling into the water I'd so conveniently come near. With a shriek, I clutch James's shirt and pull him in with me, and the moment my brain goes back to function-mode, I realize that we are holding on to each other in the shallow end of the lake.

I shiver from the sudden, cold feel of the water as I sputter and sit out water, but James brings me in closer to him – my cheek is on his chest, and I can feel his heartbeat take me over. He then tilts my chin up so that I'm facing him again, and he looks me in the eye; I stare back at the most perceptive and intense eyes I've ever seen. I know now that I have no chance to hide my feelings anymore, because he can see my profound lust all the way through me.

Without waiting even a second – which would have ended up being far too long of a wait – James closes his eyes and captures my lips into his own with a sense of finality; this is his way of telling me that I've lost and I should just raise my white flag and give into him.

And I do; I let him kiss me, and I can finally say that I know what it feels like to kiss James Potter.

It feels magnificent – truly it does – and most disturbingly, I don't hate myself for admitting it. It's so warm, soft, safe, and unfairly addicting. I mean to pull away after about fifteen seconds, but I can'. So what do I do? I stand there in the Black Lake, fully clothed, drenched, and shivering, and let my wet arms hang on to James's neck while still keeping my mouth attached to his. It's a highly odd way of getting a kiss, but at the same time, the strangeness of the situation made it absolutely perfect. Like a fanatic, I'm still kissing him, and I wonder if I'll ever be able to stop myself. His lips taste of the sweetest cinnamon – my second favorite treat next to chocolate – and I can't seem to get enough.

Despite these thoughts, however, I do pull away eventually, and just look at him. He's so beautiful that it's easy to stare at him, but right away, he leans in once more for a second kiss. I'm about to let myself get caught up in the magic of the moment again, but then I realize where I am and what I'm doing; immediately, my rationale kicks in and starts ringing the alarm bells throughout my systems – it's time to get out of here.

"No," I say simply. "No." I wade out to the edge of the lake and climb back out, leaving James behind in the water, shouting my name out in an effort to keep me by the water. I don't though; I've had enough of James's company for one night. I tear upstairs to my dormitory, distraught all of a sudden, and fall on my bed, breathing heavily and letting water drip off of me onto my covers.

I just kissed James Potter in the Black Lake out of a moment of weakness, and now, he's never going to let me forget it, I think, blood pumping through me at five times its usual rate as I recall the incident.

All I have to say is, damn my retarded impulses to hell.


	90. Avoidance

_A/N: I don't know what it is about this short, but I like it. I like it a lot. I'm happiest with the way Lily has developed in this short particularly. Now, you all may not agree with me, but as an "author," I love the way it came out, which is saying something, since I hate the majority of what I write. Enjoy. :)

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Every single part of me has been on red alert since I kissed James Potter in the lake five nights ago. I'm tingling all over, as though some kind of a bug has been let loose into my bloodstream, and I'm doing all I can to stay far away from James so that I don't have to answer any questions about why I fled the way I had.

I'm not in the mood to answer such questions, mostly because I'm almost positive that my life is currently in the process of completely falling apart.

One of the biggest reasons for this happening is that, as expected, Ainsley knows all about what I did; and, also as expected, she is highly unsupportive of my actions. She's been telling me off constantly for the past five days, insisting that I've done something that's so stupid, she wants to kill me for it, no matter how much I plead for her to stop lecturing me.

How kind of her, right?

I'm getting really irritated now, because I have other things to worry about that are completely unrelated to the James ordeal, so I decide to snipe at her today, and inquire, "Why are you so intent on getting me into this relationship?"

"Because I don't want you to be without that soulmate I know you want to find, who, in this case, is James," Ainsley explains. "It may seem hard to love him because of all those screwy thoughts going on in that convoluted brain of yours, but trust me; it's a lot harder _not_ to love him when you know you do."

I sigh; why does she have to say such strange things that happen to be perfectly true?

"Maybe you're right," I give in. "Maybe it _is_ a better idea if I go to James and tell him that I'm hopelessly in love with him for no bloody reason. But –"

"But!" Ainsley interrupts angrily, her voice raised. "But! It's such an exasperating word! It's those three little letters in that order that changes something good into something with consequences! Don't say that, Lily. 'But' is no longer an option for you. You should tell James, and that's _it_. No 'what if's,' no 'buts.' Just tell him."

I can't argue with that; I bite my lip and say, "The next time he talks to me, I swear, I will tell him everything."

"Why are you waiting for him?" she demands. "Why aren't you telling him on your own accord?"

"For the same reason you didn't tell Sirius until he confronted you about it," I shoot back at her suddenly. "Because I just can't."

When I say this, Ainsley immediately quiets down – Sirius is always going to be a touchy subject for her. However, when she speaks, her tone is soft, and she says, "You really should tell him. Keeping love a secret is never a good idea."

"Maybe," I say furtively. "Just maybe."

She leaves it at that, simply because she doesn't want to hear any more about Sirius, but the conversation strangely clings to my mind, refusing to go away. What would happen if I did tell James after all? If Ainsley finds out that I will and I actually follow through, she would be in danger of exploding with happiness for me. My mother would be happy that I found a boy I don't want to annihilate, my father would start making wedding plans for me, and my sister…well…she might care since I'd be with James all the time and she wouldn't have to see me as much, but other than that, I doubt Petunia would care. If I ask just about anyone in Gryffindor House if I should tell James that I've recently become obsessed with him, they will definitely say yes.

The bottom line: everybody in the world would be happy that Precious Potter got the girl of his dreams to go out with him, and of course, we'd become an item; something to gawk at and gossip about. England would officially be a better place to live in because we, the most fated pair in Hogwarts, so to speak, have come together. Hallelujiah.

The only thing standing in the way of this perfect world is me, essentially. Me, Lily Evans. Me, the workaholic who comes out on top of everyone else in class. Me, the girl who's (in)famous for hating James and Sirius with a searing passion. Me, the "cute one who always sits in the front and hides behind her sexy red hair" (quoted from Sirius Black, second year) that doesn't like getting in relationships. Me, Ainsley's best friend that prefers to be the sidekick in an emotionally-direct situation. What am I supposed to do when, completely out of the blue, I'm told to go out and tell someone something that goes against everything I've ever stood for, all by myself?

My survival instincts are screaming at me to stay out of this awful state of affairs, but at the same time, the crazier part of me (who is usually kept locked up in the back of my brain) has escaped from her hiding place and is screaming just as loudly to go and do something out of the ordinary – something that will give those nasty gossipers something to _really_ talk about. I know I've said it before, but it's an internal war all over again – what side do I listen to?

As of now, I don't know what side to go with, but I have this inkling that when all of this is said, done, and taken care of, it will be that wild child who never gets her say in things that will end up winning my war.


	91. Secret Meeting

_A/N: All right, all right, you LJ-action-piranhas – here you go. Enjoy this, because from here on out, we get fluff, fluff, and more fluff. :)

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Tonight, while I'm lingering in the common room after everyone's gone to bed, James approaches me. I'm not surprised; he had requested for me to meet him in this spot earlier in the day and I had somehow managed to convince myself to agree. However, I don't know why he wants me – he didn't say. Now that I look at him though, I know it's important nonetheless, and I wait for him to gather his thoughts and say whatever wants to say.

Right off the bat, he gets into what he wanted to say; like Ainsley, he doesn't beat around the bush like I do. "Lily, why are you avoiding me?" he asks.

"Because," I say stoutly, displaying my unbeatable maturity.

"That's not a reason," he says. "It's only the start of one. Care to finish it?"

"No," I decline.

James throws his hands up then, exasperated beyond belief. "Lil, what am I supposed to do with you? I try to be your friend, you push me away. I try to help you, you, again, push me away. I kiss you with your permission, you hide from me. Yet, despite all of that, there's something about you that suggests some kind of acceptance of me; so tell me now, or forever hold your peace – do you want me in your life or not?"

I'm silent, gazing at his aggravated form, wondering what I should say. I know he wishes I would say yes, I want him in my life, but mental reflex always pulls me back. As always, the age-old, overly-cliché battle between Familiarity and Curiosity is doing its toll on me; but now, the difference is that I have around thirty seconds to pick a side and stay with it.

So what do I do? I sigh and say, "This is what I was afraid of – if I don't pretend to be something I'm not or rush into a decision the way you want me to, then you'll hate me."

James's eyes melt, and he puts his hands on my shoulders. "I'd never, ever hate you, Lils, especially not for something as stupid as that."

"You've had me up on some shelf as the perfect girl for years when I know I'm most definitely not, and I've always been force-fed the idea that you are the perfect boy when I thought I was sure you weren't," I say honestly. "What if I'm not perfect enough for the perfect boy? What if I fall off that shelf I've been mistakenly put up on?"

James smiles wryly. "Lily, you will never be anything less than perfect to me, even if you think you're not."

"You can say that now, but you may take it back later," I say at once. "How am I supposed to believe you?"

"That's just where you're going to have to trust me," he says gently.

I bite my lip; do I trust James Potter, pain-in-the-arse extraordinaire? I look into his face – his open, earnest face – and I find myself saying, "I do trust you."

He smiles, his expression tender, and says, "Thank you." They're just two words, but in them, I hear so many shades of 'thank goodness.' Yet, somehow, I don't mind – I kind of like it. To show that I do, I reach out and, very shyly, stroke his cheek with the back of my fingers, and he closes his eyes, seeming to enjoy it. I let my hand explore his entire face, his ears, his hair, his neck, his shoulders; it was almost enticing, the way he was standing there, waiting for me to do something.

When I get to his chest, I decide that it's time to turn back; my hand travels back up his neck, across his chin, and to his lips, which I finger eagerly. But then, while I'm marveling at how lovely they are, James grabs on to my roaming index finger; he kisses it, and lets it fall down to my side. He takes my waist and carefully leans in, evidently hoping that I don't kill him, and kisses my mouth next. I let him, of course, and I'm rejuvenated as I get another taste of that cinnamon I'd been so addicted to last time.

I'm so in love with him, I'm sickened.

But, somehow, it's all okay as I stand there and kiss him in the middle of the Gryffindor common room. It's okay to succumb to him. It's okay that I've completely rushed into my feelings when I should be taking more time to make sure I'm not being a lovesick little girl. It's even okay that James is kissing me a little too deep for comfort now that he's realized I won't be going anywhere. Right now, it's as if time has generously stopped for a few minutes so that I can have my time to shine, and it's beyond ungrateful if I do anything besides take what I'm given.

So, see, I'm not even indulging when I kiss him – I'm simply giving time what time wanted me to give.

Oh, hell, who am I kidding? I'm indulging, and I know it.

The old Lily Evans would have immediately backed off when this thought crossed her mind, I think as I start pulling away from James. The old Lily Evans would have reprimanded herself for giving in to her desires this way. Not this Lily Evans though; this Lily Evans knew that giving in wasn't as bad as she'd thought.

I think I like the Lily better.

I look up into James's eyes again, and I find them twinkling. He says, "Miss Evans, would I be too bold if I asked you to accompany me to Hogsmeade this weekend?"

With a grin, I say, "I think that's just bold enough."

He tucks my hair behind my ear and says, "Excellent."

I resist the urge to kiss him again and bid him good night – will I talk to him in class tomorrow? Yes, I am told that I will, and that thrills me; I go to bed feeling warmer and happier than I have in weeks. Everything's so wrong – I'm definitely not following the rules here. It's almost irresistibly like Romeo and Juliet, where Romeo wants to marry Juliet within hours of knowing her – it's a mess of sharp teenage longing that should be frowned upon, but is so beautiful in all its inorganic glory that it has the opposite effect. I smile for the first time in ages as I jump into bed; wait until Ainsley hears about this in the morning.

Me and James Potter, James Potter and me, I muse; there has never been an odder pair, but there has never been a more satisfying one either.


	92. Clumsy

_A/N: Inspired by the song Clumsy, by Fergie, and a random comment someone made on the You Tube comments. :)

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In the morning, when I'm going to first period with Ainsley – mere hours after I kissed James – and I'm nervous. This is the first time I'm going to see him after what we'd done, and we were going to be in public; I had every right to be nervous. Ainsley, however, disagrees.

"It's going to be fine," she says soothingly. "You're in love, Lily! Flaunt it!"

"Why?" I ask her, mystified. "As far as the rest of the year knows, I hate him still."

"So? Prove them wrong," Ainsley says as though this is the most obvious thing in the world. "Be bold about it – the bolder you are, the more surprised they look. It's priceless!" She cracks up, obviously remembering the faces she'd invoked when she'd started dating Sirius.

I roll my eyes. "I'm not you, Ainsley. I can't do that."

"Bullshit," she says dismissively. "It's easy – just give James a nice, big snog in front of the class, and then go, 'What? I like him.'" She grins. "I just gave you gold – go do it!"

"NO!" I holler, stopping right in the middle of the corridor to smack her. "Never! I'm going to go in there, and then I'm going to talk to him, like we're friends!"

"How boring," Ainsley scoffs. "Make a scene!"

"No," I insist.

She rolls her eyes disapprovingly, but she lets me take her into the Transfiguration room without annoying me further with the discussion.

When we get in there, James is already standing at his spot, waiting for me. He sees me enter the room, and his face cracks into a wide grin; he holds his arms out to embrace me.

I'm only too happy to run into that embrace, like a child greeting a parent after a long day at school.

So I do, much to Ainsley's amusement – I run towards him, feeling the warmth of his hug before I even get there. My classmates are watching as well; they're kind of scared, to be frank. They are wondering why Lily Evans is running to James Potter, I imagine. Well, they'll find out soon enough; it's not like there are any secrets in Hogwarts, much less if Ainsley is around.

However, the entire dramatic dash is ruined halfway through – I trip over something on my way over to him.

I fall flat on my face, not even expecting it, and I hear laughter around me. I sit up, feeling the extra hot blood come up into a blush on my cheeks. What a brilliant move I'd just made.

James isn't embarrassed for me though – he comes to me instead and offers me a hand up. I take it and he pulls me to my feet, just like that. He grabs my hand and leads me to the seat next to his, much to the noise going around us, and I look questioningly at him. Isn't he bothered by the reaction of our class?

He reads my face correctly. "No, Lily, it doesn't matter," he says to me. "You've just shown them you've fallen for me perfectly."

"I have?" I wrinkle my nose.

He laughs. "Yes, you have – you literally fell for me right there."

I get his drift, much to my displeasure; I smirk and say, "Haha, James."

He snickers and takes out his materials for the day, which I do as well, and I can't help but shake my head; not only do I face the pain of embarrassment for falling in front of my classmates, I have to face the pain of the fact that he's perfectly right.

I've completely fallen for him – both ways.


	93. Bitterness

_A/N: I didn't think I'd add this super long one in, but I decided to – it's not fluffy, but I felt it was somewhat necessary, since some of you want to know how I want to 'officially' finish up with Ainsley and Sirius's story.

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_

In the common room tonight, I sit with James while he chats with various people in our house, Sirius included. Ainsley says she'd rather not join in with my "alone time" with my boyfriend (it almost scared me the first time she called him that – I'd never thought I'd have a boyfriend, least of all a boyfriend named James Potter), but I know it's more than that. Today, she sits a couple of seats away from us with the latest novel she's reading; I don't know why she refuses to even look at us. I'll have to ask her about that later – now, in the middle of a noisy room when I'm with James, is definitely not the time.

I currently lie in James's lap, his hand twirling a strand of my hair, while Frank Longbottom asks, "How did you get Lily to like you finally?"

James grins lazily at me while I smirk. "Damn good luck," he answers finally.

"Good luck you should be thankful for," I tell him. "Just because I like you, doesn't mean I can't break away from you."

He rolls his eyes and kisses me deeply for about ten seconds to demonstrate his obvious power over me. "You won't. Now hush, Lils."

Frank laughs. "Are you going to let him get away with that, Lily?"

"Of course not." I slap him on the cheek. "Shame on you, James. You can't assume things about me."

"I'm sorry," he says somewhat-sincerely. "Any more questions, Frank?"

Frank grins. "You are such a weird couple."

James bows his head. "Thanks very much for your gracious compliment. Much appreciated."

I sigh. "Ignore him. He's a bit challenged in the humor department."

"Am not," James argues. "I'm hilarious!"

"No, not really," Frank and I remark at the same time.

He looks pathetically at me. "How can you take his side against me, your dashingly handsome and amazing boyfriend?"

"Watch me," I say.

Before he can answer me though, Sirius comes stomping into the room from the portrait hole; I can almost see the storm cloud above his head as he plops down on the sofa next to James and me, only one away from Ainsley. Reflexively, I turn to look at my best friend, and I see her looking at us for the first time tonight. She looks only mildly interested, but I imagine that her heart literally stopped for a moment when she saw him. She hasn't been this close to Sirius since the disastrous incident in the Three Broomsticks.

"What's up, Sirius?" James inquires, oblivious to the suddenly thick atmosphere that has blanketed all of us.

"Do you need me to leave?" Frank wonders.

"That would be great, Longbottom," Sirius says gruffly, surprising him.

Frank makes a face, but leaves anyway; "That was rude," I say.

"Sorry," he says. "I'm just annoyed – I had to dump Anne for snogging a guy that wasn't me just now."

"Anne?" James pulls on his thinking face. "You aren't going out with her though – weren't you going out with Trish after you broke up with Michelle and Christy?"

"No, I broke up with Trish," Sirius says. "Her nose was too big – it drove me crazy when I looked at her."

James snickers. "When did you start dating Anne?"

"Yesterday, actually," he says.

"But I thought you were still dating Trish yesterday." James is so utterly confused; it makes me want to laugh.

"I had been, but I broke up with her in the morning, and then took Anne out in the evening," Sirius explains. "Now I broke up with Anne, so I no longer have a girlfriend."

I admit myself astonished – I'd never known these dirty details of Sirius's love life. "You've dumped four girls after dating Ainsley? All within the space of a month?"

"Yeah," Sirius says gloomily. "For such a big school, there are no decent girls to date anymore."

I glance over at Ainsley after hearing these proclamations, and I see that she's looking troubled. I can see part of the reason why – he's probably destroyed all those girls the same way he had destroyed her, and she doesn't like that at all. However, I know the main reason she's troubled as well; it's that even though he's a serial dater that doesn't care enough for human feelings, she still loves him. I find myself caught up in her expression – her eyes have become rare, temporary windows into the vulnerable side of her personality.

I'm brought back to earth, though, because James groans and asks, "Sirius, out of all the girls you've dated, did you even like one of them?"

"I did," he says. "Just one."

"Who?" James wants to know.

Sirius looks significantly in the direction of a frozen Ainsley. "You know who."

I look at Ainsley too, and I see her struggling to collect herself together. She manages to keep her expression free of angst and says to Sirius, "I doubt you liked any of the girls you've dated."

He shrugs, evidently holding in his famous temper. "I did like you, Ainsley."

"Yes, and that's why you broke up with me," she snaps. "I've told you before, Sirius – the words love and like mean next to nothing to you."

"You're so damn prejudiced," he says scornfully. "Do you really think you know everything about me?"

"I know enough to know that you aren't meant to be trusted," she retorts.

"You don't know anything," Sirius tells her coldly.

"That's good, because I don't _want_ to know anything," Ainsley shouts. "You've done nothing but cause me grief, and I've had enough. Don't talk to me."

Something flickers in Sirius's eyes when he hears this; is it some kind of pain that Ainsley wants nothing more to do with him? "That works for me," he says, his tone hard despite whatever is going on behind those gray eyes that are so much like Ainsley's.

She goes back to her book as he leaves the room, both of them fuming, but I can see that their short conversation had taken its effect on Ainsley already. Her lips are pursed as she pretends to read the page she's on, and I am saddened to watch her – somehow, she's managed to warp her destiny and has successfully pushed away the one person she let far enough into her life to make a difference.

James shifts from under me, and I start; I'd almost forgotten he was there. I look at him, and he's just as upset as I am. "Lily?" he says my name hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"If I ever even consider breaking up with you, slap me across the face."

I smile wryly. "I can do that."

He takes my hand and squeezes it tightly as he kisses me with a particularly reverent tenderness; though we won't say it, we both know that no matter what becomes of us, we don't want to end up the way we've seen our closest friends end up.

Specifically why? It's because there's too much bitterness and distrust lingering in their hearts and minds; no one wants to be in the middle of that battlefield.


	94. Nicknames

_A/N: Okay, back to fluff. Haha, I hope you like this – it's really short compared to the long ones I've been writing lately, but hopefully it turned out all right. :)

* * *

_

The moment I walk into the common room in the evening, just before dinner, James, of course, immediately pounces on me and greets me with his favorite bear hug and a kiss on my cheek.

"Hey Lily," he says warmly.

I can't help but smirk; it's almost as though he's gone years without seeing me, the way he talks to me after being away for about an hour. "Hey Prongs," I say, referring to the nickname Sirius always uses with him. I don't know what it means, but he lets me use it anyway.

James's grin fades into a slight frown. "Lily, I've been thinking…you need a nickname."

"You call me Lils all the time," I point out.

"Yeah, but you need a _special_ nickname." He rubs his chin contemplatively. "How about…Lily Flower?"

"No," I object.

"Lily Bear?" he tries once more, hopeful.

I wrinkle my nose in utter disgust. "Never."

"Lily Billy?" he suggests.

I feel the contents of whatever I'd eaten last come perilously close to my mouth. "No way."

"Lily…Petal?"

I laugh sarcastically. "James, just call me Lily, Lil, or Lils, all right? I don't need a 'special nickname.'"

He sighs, frustrated. "I really wish you would let me call you one of those nicknames."

"Fine," I give in. "Call me Lily Flower."

He beams at me. "Thanks, Lily Flower!"

My smile becomes rather wicked. "No problem, Jamesiekins."

James blinks twice, face blank, but after a moment, he says, "Okay. Lils it is."

I let my expression go back to a normal happy, and say, "Thank you…Jamesie."

He laughs at me and leans in to kiss me, and I, obviously, oblige with pleasure.


	95. Stupid, Useless Things

_A/N: This is extra long to make up for the extra short one previous to this. :P The pacing at the end was kind of awful, but I do hope you like it!

* * *

_

As of right now, I'd say that it's around midnight.

I should be asleep – everyone else is. But _I'm_ not; I'm wide awake and in James Potter's dormitory, lying next to him on his bed, just talking to him.

No, it's nothing like _that_. It's just two friends having a conversation in the middle of the night, that's all. I don't even know what all we've been talking about, since we move through topics quickly, but it's been endless – we've wasted so many years being enemies when we could have been so much more, so we have quite a bit of catching up to do.

The subject of discussion at the moment is spaghetti – fettuccine alfredo or tomato parmesan?

"Fettuccine," I say. "Hands down."

"Parmesan," James argues. "It's red!"

"What does its color have to do with anything?" I inquire.

"It's a scientifically proven fact that red foods make you hungrier," James explains.

"If you're hungrier, you eat more, and you get fat," I tell him.

"Not if you're me." James grins. "I eat tomato parmesan all the time, and I'm not fat."

"Well sweetie, that's because you like to work out as a hobby," I say. "Not all people are like that. They get fat. Fettuccine alfredo is pale-colored, so you don't get as hungry. It also looks more sophisticated."

"Who cares about sophistication in spaghetti?" James says. "I mean, no matter what it looks like, it's going to be digested into the same thing and get used for other activities."

"It just looks better," I say. "Having red sauce all over your mouth doesn't look very nice."

"So?" James is looking at me uncomprehendingly. "I love having red sauce all over my mouth. Then you get to lick it all off."

I make a face. "You are so immature sometimes."

He clicks his tongue annoyingly. "My dad always said that immature is only a term used by people who don't know how to have fun."

I raise my eyebrows. "I like having fun."

"No you don't," he says. "Not the normal kind of fun, anyway. Your version of fun, Miss Evans, is finishing your homework and _maybe_ sneaking down for a little snack before bed."

"Then enlighten me, Mr. Potter," I say challengingly. "What is _your_ almighty definition of fun?"

"For one thing, playing Quidditch," he says. "Playing pranks is fun too. But my favorite one is just being with you." He strokes my cheek with his hand, smiling gently at me.

My easy blush inevitably comes out when he says this. "Thank you, I suppose. But how are Quidditch and playing pranks fun? They're childish and have little use to the real world. Learning and stretching the capacity of the mind is so much more rewarding."

James shakes his head. "See, this is your problem. All you're worried about is your future. Lily, what about _right now_? Doesn't _that_ matter to you at all? Live a little; there's plenty of time to worry about the future."

"There is nothing wrong with a bit of preparation," I say. "If I waste the present doing stupid, useless things, I won't be ready for when I need to be serious."

"You're right, there's nothing wrong with a bit of preparation, but 'a bit' are the key words there," he says. "You take things completely overboard. Stupid, useless things are good for the soul – do them more often."

"What stupid, useless thing do you suggest I do then?" I ask him.

James considers this. "Hmmmm…I know what we can do." He takes my hand and as quietly as humanly possible, we escape into the common room without waking anyone. Then, he takes me to a storage cupboard, where he leaves me outside, runs in, and comes back out with something in a bag. I try to find out what it is, but he shushes me and takes me to an abandoned classroom, far away from the dormitories so that nobody can hear us.

When we get inside and can talk normally again, I want to know, "What are we doing, James?"

He grins. "I thought you'd never ask," he says sarcastically. He opens the bag for me, and I peer inside, curiosity burning already. In this bag, I see…soap. Lots and lots of soap.

I look at him in bewilderment. "Why did you get soap? What is it going to do for us?"

"Trust me." He whips out his wand from his pocket, opens a packet of soap, and makes a jet of water come out of the wand, so that bubbles appear in his hands. I stare at the bubbles, wondering what their purpose is, when he suddenly blows it into my face.

I squeal and spit out soap suds, trying to get them out of my hair. "What did you do that for?"

"For fun." James beams at me and hands me some soap. "Now you try."

"Why?" I demand.

"I told you – for fun," he says. "Stupid, useless things. Didn't we talk about this before?"

"I didn't think you'd actually make me do it," I say. Honestly, I'm scandalized; he wants to blow _soap_ around the room and make a mess in the middle of the night, simply for the fun of it?!

"Silly Lily." He blows more bubbles at me. "Come on – blow some." He opens my soap packet for me and readies my wand for the spell. "For me?" His famous puppy-pleading expression comes on, and I find myself victim to those damned hazel eyes that I can't stop staring at.

I sigh; how can I resist it when he puts it that way?

"Fine," I grumble as I make bubbles, copying what he'd done. "I can't believe you're making me do this."

James smiles angelically at me. "Thank you."

I smear the bubbles across his face in response.

When I look at his soapy face, it is full of mischievousness. "Oh, Lily, you didn't just do that. This means war!" He begins to form bubbles at top speed and put them all in my hair, which makes me shriek.

"All right, war it is!" I start to form bubbles as well, and try throwing them at him. It doesn't work; I just make a mess on the floor. James laughs at me.

"You've already lost, my poor little flower," he teases.

"Not yet." I stick the soap into his shirt and spray my wand all over him, which forces bubbles to rise right on his skin. This amuses him – he attempts to do the same thing to me.

"No!" I joyfully spring to the other side of the room, which is also soaked in water and soap by this point, and wait for him to try catching me. He slips on a random puddle on his way towards me; of course, being the person that I am, I bounce over to him to make sure he's okay. When I come close though, he latches on to my ankle, which makes me trip and fall into the bubbles next to him – I should have known it was just a trick.

Completely soaked and lathered by now, I lie down on the foam next to him, giggling. We start rolling around the destroyed classroom and making soap angels, side by side the entire time, and I fully begin to understand what he means about the stupid, useless things in life – it's those ridiculous little games and jokes we engage in constantly that make being together so much fun.

As I reflect on this though, my thoughts are perfectly confirmed when James turns me to face him and gives me a very wet and soapy kiss – this night had been the very definition of our relationship; it's fun, quite random, very impractical, and prefers not to follow the general rules and etiquettes other people follow.

And, when I pull away and gaze into his face again, I know that I like it exactly the way it is.


	96. Phobias

During Potions, Ainsley and I are sitting together at our little table, preparing for the day's lesson, when James pulls up a chair and sets up with us. I'm all right with this, but Ainsley isn't; she asks him, "Don't you sit with Sirius?"

"I want to sit with Lily today," he tells her.

"Only two per table, Potter," she reminds him.

"She's right," I say. "Slughorn will get upset."

"Ainsley, why don't you sit with Sirius?" James suggests, gesturing at his now-vacated seat.

Her face darkens. "No," she says in a low voice.

"It would show him that you're not afraid of him," James says. "You're not, are you?"

"Of course not," she snaps.

"Well, then tell him that," he says. "He probably thinks you wouldn't be able to – prove him wrong."

Ainsley considers this for a moment, her expression still hard, but then she swiftly picks up her things and takes James's old seat. James, pleased with his victory, immediately sits next to me, and I look at him in awe.

"How do you manage to talk to her like that?" I ask. "_I_ can't even do that."

He shrugs. "I know her type; you just have to be direct and to-the-point to make her cooperate."

"How are you so practiced in female psychology?" I inquire. I'm shocked – for years, he has driven me up the wall, yet he knows so much about how girl's minds work.

He is about to answer me, but out of the blue, James starts to scream ear-splittingly and jumps out of his seat. Bewildered by his abrupt fear, I look around, but I can't see anything that could possibly scare him. The class is now laughing hysterically at him but he's unaware of them – even his eyes have become very slightly paler with terror.

"James, are you all right?" I ask, my expression mystified.

"No," he breathes, still shocked.

"What's the matter?" I look at his area of the table, but all I see is an insect crawling on his instruction page. "There's nothing here."

"T-the bug," he stutters, pointing at it, his finger shaking slightly.

"The bug?" I look at the tiny thing on his table uncomprehendingly. "What about it?"

"I'm t-terrified of bugs," he tells me.

I smash the bug with my fist and then throw it away, unsure of how James could be so frightened by a creature so small. He only sits back down when he's sure there are no more insects in the vicinity, and then sighs with relief. By now, though, I'm struggling to hold back my smile.

"Well, well, well," I say. "The great James Potter has a phobia of bugs and insects."

He sees my amusement and looks reproachfully at me. "Yes, I do."

I can't help it – I burst out laughing.

"What?" James asks, annoyed. "They're so _nasty_. The way they crawl and move…" His voice trails off as he gives an involuntary shudder.

"They're smaller than your fingernail," I say. "Why are you so scared of them?"

"I just am," he insists.

"It's okay, I think it's cute that you're afraid of bugs," I say, kissing him on the cheek.

"Thanks," he mumbles sarcastically, blushing a little bit.

"No, really," I say. "I just…wasn't expecting it. Besides, I have a phobia of heights – I can't really talk."

"Heights?" This astonishes him. "I love them – they're what make Quidditch so much fun."

"I hate them," I say. "I always feel like I might fall at any minute, and that worries the living hell out of me."

"But that's the fun of it," James tells me. "The danger, the proximity to sudden death…I love it!"

"Well, I don't," I say. "See? Now I know your biggest fear, and you know mine."

He smiles. "I suppose that's a good thing."

"It is." I clear my throat and scream at the top of my lungs while pointing at some random part of the room, "HOLY SHIT, LOOK AT THAT ENORMOUS SPIDER OVER THERE!"

James starts violently and looks around, expression wild, and I giggle. "Sorry love, I couldn't resist."

He gives me a look. "That wasn't nice."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," I say soothingly. "I won't do it again."

"Good." He kisses me and goes back to his potion-making while I go back to my own; I'm still highly entertained by the fact that _the_ James Potter can't stand the sight of a bug or an insect.

However, when about half the class period had gone by, I hear the thud of a cauldron falling to the floor. I look around to see whose it is, and I see it is Ainsley's. She is standing over it, red with anger, and Sirius is glaring at her just as viciously.

"You horrible _bastard_," she shouts at him after smacking him sharply across the face. "How _dare_ you?" With this, she stomps out of the room, not bothering to look back, and James calls out, "What the hell did you do to her, Sirius?"

"Nothing," Sirius calls back to us. "All I did was try to kiss her, and she started berating me for absolutely no reason!"

He and I groan and choose not to respond to him – is he really stupid enough to attempt kissing Ainsley after everything? Apparently, he is.

"I just realized I have another phobia," James tells me after a few minutes, when Sirius has calmed down and is working on his potion once again.

"You do?" I ask conversationally.

"Yes," he says. "I have a phobia of Ainsley when she's mad at an ex-boyfriend."

I laugh humorlessly. "I think that's a phobia to everyone who knows her."

He nods in agreement, and I realize (with a jolt of unhappiness) that what I said is probably a true statement – Ainsley truly can be a person to fear when she wants to be.


	97. Quidditch Practice

_A/N: Yet another long short, but this one was enormously fun, at least to me. :P

* * *

_

It's five o'clock on a Saturday morning. I should be in bed, fast asleep for another three or four hours. But I'm not; I'm outside, trying hard not to let my eyes close, and I'm sitting on the bench in the Quidditch stadium, watching the Gryffindor Quidditch team practice.

It's not my first choice of activity in the morning, but James wanted me to come, so I did. It's actually incredibly dull, having to sit outside and watch seven teenagers fly on broomsticks. How are they so awake at such an hour? I'm yawning every couple of minutes, yet I slept before them and woke up after most of them. It's a mystery to me; apparently, they have more stamina than I gave them credit for.

For the sixth time in five minutes, I rub my eyes and brush a strand of hair out of my face, bored. I watch James throw a Quaffle at someone and hit them in the face, which mildly amuses me for a moment or two, but that's the most noteworthy thing the team has done so far. They obviously like to mess around during practice – I wouldn't approve, had I been their captain – but they're always so uniform during a match. Great; yet another mystery for me to ponder.

"James, are you done?" I shout finally, unable to sit still any longer.

"Lily, we've only just started," he shouts back.

"Seriously?" I holler. "You've been out here for ages!"

"Sorry," is all I get as he throws the Quaffle at someone else, laughing manically when it hits them. I roll my eyes; James is so easily entertained; if I gave him a ball of string, I swear he could play with it for hours.

I occupy myself with this mental image for a little while, but then I turn my attention back to the team. Now, James is dodging several Bludgers the highly aggravated Beaters have bewitched to chase him. The rest of the team is simply watching, some of them pointing, others of them laughing or jeering. Is this how they practice every day? Merlin, they need some help. Even _I_ could make them do more than they are now.

The moment I think this, a smile creeps to my face – I know exactly how to liven this morning up.

Leaving my sleepiness on the bench where I'd been sitting, I march down to the field, energy finally flowing through my veins. There are only boys were on the team – their only girl was currently in the Hospital Wing with a broken jaw and they had temporarily replaced her – and they all look skeptically at me as I stand in the muddy middle, my eyes blazing.

"Where the hell is your Captain?" I demand.

"Right here." The Keeper flies down to me, grinning apologetically. "You're Potter's girlfriend, right?"

"Yes, I am – I'm Lily Evans," I say. "What's your name and why the hell aren't you practicing? I've been watching you goof off for nearly a half hour now."

"Brian Williams," he says. "See, the team works better when left to their own devices – their games increase agility and reflex."

"I'm sure," I say scornfully. "You don't know what you're doing, do you?"

"I do," Williams says, his tone completely serious despite the bewildering truth he is trying to portray. "This is how we always practice, and it's always worked."

"Well, you're not playing around today," I say. "Can I borrow that?"

I don't wait for his answer – I just take his whistle from him, and after cleaning it with my robes, I blow it loudly, which gets all the boys' attention. Williams looks at me as though I'm about to corrupt his team – which, I suppose, I sort of am – but I ignore him as I face the seven highly confused young men in front of me. James is curious as well when he flies down; he's never seen me this…in control.

"Is this seriously how Hogwarts' best athletes practice?" I ask them all incredulously.

"Yeah," the Beater who had hit James says, as though I'm missing a particularly simple point.

"Name?"

"Andrew Wilde," he says.

"Well, _Wilde_, you're not practicing like that today," I say. "We'll build up muscle the old-fashioned way." I raise my voice and call out, "Drop down and give me twenty push ups, all of you."

I do not get twenty push ups; I get a chorus of laughter instead.

"No way," Wilde says, giggling.

I stride up close to him and push him to the ground. "Twenty, I said," I remind him.

He starts to get back up, but I don't let him; I sit on his back, making him yowl, and shout at him to give me twenty. The team is highly interested – they gather around to watch, but I get off of Wilde, and order them to do twenty as well. Finally, they take me seriously and get down to give me twenty. Satisfied, I walk around and make remarks about how pathetic their forms are until they are finished.

Seeing their incredulous faces gives me new strength; I find it's rather fun to boss around a Quidditch team. Those twenty push ups are quickly followed by twenty curl ups, fifty jumping-jacks (those were probably the funniest out of all the exercises I ended up forcing them to complete), and several minutes of stretching various muscles, much to their discontent.

Judging from the amount of complaints I receive throughout the workout, they evidently don't do this often.

James approaches me, horrified, when I give the boys a break, and I smile at him. "Hey," I say, chuckling at his muddy form. "Enjoying practice?"

"Lils, since when did you become a military sergeant?" he inquires.

"Since I found out how pathetic you guys are," I say sweetly. "But I think that this is enough for today – what would you say?"

"I'd say you're right." He laughs and kisses me. "I don't think I'm going to bring you to any more Quidditch practices – I think the team would kill me."

"Thank goodness," I say. "I'm not a fan of Quidditch practice."

James is about to say something else, but Wilde suddenly begs, "Potter, make her go away now."

Six other voices give their approval for this request, and I smirk; however, James says, "Sure thing." He pushes me away and tells me teasingly, "Get out of here, Lily."

"Bye," I say cheerfully, waving to the rest of the boys, none of which bother to wave back. I'm not bothered – I wasn't particularly crazy about any of them either.

I snort as I make my way back to the castle; despite all their claims of superior brawn and continual boasts of manliness, all I've seen today was a shockingly accurate piece of proof that screams only one thing:

Male athletes in Hogwarts are nothing but lazy fools that are far too easy to push around.


	98. Spanish

_A/N: Haha, blame my Spanish teacher for this one. ;) I like the lovely language of Español, and so I wrote this. To those of you who know Spanish, I'm sorry for little grammatical errors that might be in this, but I do hope you like it!

* * *

_

On Sunday, I'm finishing the last of my homework with James in the common room – I normally don't condone such procrastination, but I had been busy over the weekend, and I couldn't do it. James insists that this is a sign that normalcy is starting to enter the apparently "overly-studious" realms of my mind, but I believe that I'm going nuts. Either way, I'm busy doing writing feverishly so that I can go back outside and maybe take a swim in the lake while he leisurely doodles on scrap paper, waiting for me to finish.

"Aren't you going to work?" I ask him, annoyed by his lack of work ethic. "I know you haven't done anything over these three days."

"Of course not," James says easily. "Relax, Lil; I know this crap and I don't need to do pointless busy work to prove it."

I sigh; there's no use arguing with him on this matter. However, his explanation, though short and fairly lazy-sounding, intrigues me; maybe I _don't_ need to do the busy work. Maybe I _should _slack off. James gets through with good grades, and my grades are so high that a couple of assignments won't kill them. So, even though I'm going back on everything I've ever believed in, I put away my things and say, "I don't think I want to do this either."

"Good for you!" He hugs me tightly, thrilled. "You're slowly turning into a human being! I'm so proud of you!"

"Gee, thanks, James," I say. "Now please let me breathe."

"Sorry." He grins apologetically and releases me from his embrace. "What do you say to a bit of a swim? Me gusta mucho nadar."

"What?" I wrinkle my nose. "I don't speak Spanish."

"I said I like to swim," James translates.

"When did you learn to speak Spanish? You can hardly speak English properly," I note.

"Haha," he says sarcastically. "But when I was six, my mum kept a Spanish housekeeper for me, and I picked up some Spanish."

"What else can you say?" I inquire curiously, fascinated by this unexpected talent.

"Pues…" James looks at me critically, rubbing his chin. "Qué te gusta hacer, mi poco azucena?"

"I have no idea what you just asked me," I inform him.

He laughs, thoroughly enjoying confusing me. "I asked you, what do you like to do, my little flower? Azucena is 'lily' in Spanish."

"I see," I say. "How do you say, I like to read?"

"Me gusta leer," James says. "Tú eres inteligente."

"Did you call me intelligent?" I grin. "Thank you."

He bows. "De nada."

"Okay, that's 'you're welcome,' right?"

"Yes," he says with a smile. "Hmmmm…tú eres nada deportista, lo siento, sin embargo, tú eres muy paciente y amable. Pues, tú amable de veces. De lo contrario, tú eres muy cruel."

"You lost me again," I say. "What did you just shoot at me in a foreign language?"

James laughs again – it's such an attractive laugh. "I said, you're not athletic, I'm sorry, however, you are very patient and nice. Well, you're nice sometimes. Otherwise, you are very cruel."

I smack him, but I can't help but smile. "How do you say, 'I'm going to kill you' in Spanish?"

"I can't tell you that," he says, giving me a smirk. "However, I _can_ tell you how to say 'I love you' in Spanish."

"How?" I ask, since I'm obviously supposed to.

"Me gustas tú," he says flirtatiously, batting his eyelashes at me.

I giggle. "Me gustas tú."

"Very good." He leans in a little, so that he is a few centimeters from my face, and whispers, "Béseme."

"Mmm?" Even though we've been together for what seems to be a long time, I still can't talk very coherently when he's so close to me.

He reaches towards my mouth, and says into my lips, "It means kiss me."

"Sí." This signals the limits of my Spanish speaking, but I don't need telling twice – I kiss him gratefully so that we can go and take a swim together in the lake.

Even in Spanish, I realize, I can find the means to tell him I'm in love with him. I think that really says something about our relationship.


	99. Not So Silent Night

_A/N: Yes, number 99 already! I have this whole big speech ready to tell you all how much I love and appreciate your patience & sweet comments, but this isn't the time to give it to you. We'll save all that good stuff for the last short. :) So I hope you like this; it's a slightly different version of a funny story my mom told me the other day. :P Enjoy!

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It's such a horrible night.

I sigh, rolling over for what has to be the twentieth time in two minutes. For some odd reason, I can't fully get to sleep tonight. I don't know what the time is right now, nor do I know much else. What I _do_ know is that I'm in that awful state of half-sleep and half-consciousness; I'm aware of the atmosphere around me and could be considered awake, but I can't make myself go back to sleep while being unable to move at all.

I swear, I could be diagnosed with insomnia any day now.

I fidget very slightly and attempt to make my arms stretch. They don't; they lie resolutely by my side, responsive as logs. I attempt to make my eyes open. They don't; they, too, are about as responsive as logs at the moment. Damn; I know the night is bad when my own body refuses to do anything for me.

However, while I'm lamenting over this fact, I hear something in the air around me change. Someone is in the room – someone who just entered, I mean. Who is it? I can't move, but even if I could, it would be too dark to tell who it is. Padded footsteps go towards the direction of the bathroom, and I internally breathe a sigh of relief. It's not some psychotic murderer out to kill Gryffindor House then; that's always good.

The distant sound of a sink running with water being filled into a jug reaches my ears next. I'm puzzled; what the hell is going on? Why is someone getting a jug of water from the bathroom in my dormitory? There are bathrooms in every dormitory for that specific reason. If only I could wake up enough to investigate.

As suddenly as it started, the sink stops running. Good – this person must be done now and can leave. I turn my thoughts away from the strange phenomenon that had been occurring and concentrate on sleep. Sleep…how blissful it would be if it came to me finally. I will myself to relax, hoping to tempt some to the exhausted abyss that is my mind and body. It's working; I can feel myself drifting, drifting, drifting…

SPLASH!

"ARGH!" I yell as loudly as my lungs will allow me to. Freezing cold water has been released in a torrent upon me, and it is only now that my body allows me to move individual limbs again. I have no idea what just happened, but I do know that I am wet, cold, and confused.

And I do not like being any one of those things.

My eyes fly open, and the first thing I see is James Potter standing over me with the jug I thought I'd heard being filled. I'm about to shriek bloody murder, but on a closer look, I realize that he's not even awake – he's fast asleep, and I apprehend that he had sleepwalked here. He had no idea what he had been doing. But how the hell did he get here? He's not allowed to – how did he hoodwink the system? I'm in no condition to find out; all I can do is gape at James's sleeping form, which is clutching the jug.

Then, as if he senses I'm awake, he tosses the jug aside and pushes me a little bit. I scoot over in my bed, bewildered, and he climbs in next to me. With a quick pull, all of my blankets are around him and he is cuddled up with me, still in his slumber. I can hardly grasp what just happened still – apparently, a sleep-walking James came to me tonight, dumped water on me, and then cuddled in next to me to go back to sleep. Oh Merlin; that boy is going to get it from me in the morning.

I sigh, frustrated, and try to coax some blanket space from James. He holds it steadily; he is obviously a cover-hog, and he won't let me have any. I'm getting a little bit cold, lying on my mattress without a blanket, so I pull harder, determined for at least something to wrap my legs with. I get nothing – James is out cold, beyond all hopes of sharing. Great.

Well, there's only one thing I can do, and I do it; I lie on top of him. Somehow oblivious to the fact that his girlfriend's weight is on his front, he does sense that there is more room to take horizontally so he makes himself more comfortable by spreading out. I am in disbelief; how does he take up so much room? He is sprawled across my bed, leaving no room for anyone else anymore, and I give up any hopes of having a restful few hours of sleep.

However, this does not stop me from finding a comfy position of my own and settling into it. James isn't as bad of a bed as he could have been – he's muscular enough to avert the feeling of a water bed, but soft enough to give me a bit of leeway underneath. I lay my cheek on his chest, and I close my eyes once more, seeking a bit of slumber for myself now; maybe with James conveniently here, I will be able to.

The dormitory is completely silent again as I take yet another effort at sleep. Well, almost completely silent; now, I can only hear two of my most wanted sounds – James's rhythmic breathing and the soft, comforting resonance of his heart beating.

And it is to these two sounds that make up my favorite song, the only one that will get me to go to sleep at night, even if I'm cold, wet, and have had my bed taken by a hefty Quidditch player who has little mercy on me at night.

It's okay though; I snuggle up a little bit more on him and my last thought before I really am asleep is that even if it's weird and slightly painful, I'd never want tonight to be any other way.


	100. Lakeside Reflections

_A/N: Ending this story, I knew, was always going to be the hardest part, but I hope I've done all right with it. :)

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Another beautiful end to another beautiful day.

That's my only thought as I sit by the lake next to James today – it is sunset, one of my favorite times of day, and we are sitting together in silence, just enjoying the atmosphere. The air is warm, and a light, friendly breeze is enveloping us, protecting us from overheating, while the sky is lit up with blood red, vibrant orange, and rich golden rays, sinking past the horizon, with the gentle, wise cerulean starts to push down on it, signaling night. We are at the site where he and I fell into the lake and kissed for the first time, actually, and I think it's on purpose, though neither of us has mentioned it.

Right now, my head is on his shoulder, and his arm is around my waist while we nestle in next to each other; we spend a lot of time in that position. James's fingers are twirling inside strands of my hair, and I'm letting my nose fill up with the heavily addicting aroma that is always lingering around his person – we're at peace, content in the arms of the other. I've seen days when I would have hated myself for doing what I am, but I'm past all that now. I've learned not to be ashamed of my feelings, because it's stupid. Trusting myself is so much easier than trying to avoid what I know I want – James is living proof of that.

Very near by us, Sirius is sitting down, unusually quiet and somber. He's laying on his stomach, staring at the water, his black eyes unfathomable, and I wonder what he's thinking about. Sirius rarely thinks about anything that doesn't have to do with sex, girls, or both, and seeing him look almost vulnerable is quite startling, but in a good way. It's just us three, sitting by the lake, sharing a silence. Some people don't like silences, but I do – silence is, in its own way, louder and much more poignant than expressing words. I smile slightly; I never would have thought the day would come when I would be sharing such a silence with people like Sirius Black and James Potter.

That's the thing about life though, I realize; it's never what one thinks it should be. Something somewhere changes or goes wrong, and a whole new situation comes out of it, sometimes good and sometimes bad. That's generally viewed as a bad thing, but truly, it's not – it's stunning. There is nothing sweeter than taking what should be and turning it into something drastically different.

I look into James's face – his handsomely childish face with those gorgeous hazel eyes I've come to adore – and he looks back into mine, smiling gently. Without making a single noise, we communicate volumes of feelings and emotions, and I feel more love for him in this moment than I thought I could feel in a lifetime. I close my eyes and lean up slowly to kiss him, and his lips capture mine at once. However, this time, we kiss slowly – very slowly. I savor the taste of him, wishing I could bottle it into a jar and then have it with me all the time, and wrap my arms around him, while he pulls me in by from my back. My happiness is, at this point, complete; I need absolutely nothing more than this.

After what could have been years in paradise, he starts to pull away from me, but halfway through, he changes his mind and dips down to my mouth again. None of the magic has been lost, and I'd gladly stay the way we are forevermore, but I know we can't – not now anyway. I separate him from me, and he tucks my hair behind my ear, his fingers sending chills down my spine when they touch my skin. Everything is sharper and means so much more right now, at this twilight of sorts, and it feels as though my entire being is aching with too much want and desire; is it right to feel this way when one is so young? Somehow, I don't think so, yet at the same time, I don't care. This is actually one rule I don't mind breaking.

Suddenly though, in the distance, my eye catches a stray, lone figure coming towards us. A closer look tells me that it's Ainsley, looking towards us with an unreadable and intense expression. I glance at Sirius, and I see that he has frozen – he isn't prepared for Ainsley right now, and isn't sure how to handle her. It's bizarre and somewhat unsettling, seeing Sirius Black of all people being unsure about a girl. James catches my eye, and I see that he feels the same way – what's about to happen?

Ainsley marches down to the lake, but her pace slows when she nears Sirius. Now that she's closer to me, I can see her more clearly, and a plethora of emotion is visible in her eyes. She stops in front of Sirius, unmoving in all her nervousness, and Sirius just stares back at her, his eyes carefully concealing all feeling. They stand, simply watching the other, trying to find the right words to articulate their thoughts, while James and I wait tentatively. Again, I ask myself, what's going to happen to them?

At long last, Sirius extends his hand gradually to hers, his fingertips reaching out in space. Ainsley hesitates, but to our surprise, her hand gradually extends to meet his, and their fingers meet in the middle and interlock. Her smile is small and tender as Sirius pulls her down next to him; I find myself melting inside when I see this – she didn't kill him. That's so nice to see.

Even better, Sirius doesn't screw up this time either. He strokes her cheek with the back of his hand, and then pulls her into a firm hug. I see Ainsley relax in his arms while tightening her own hold on him, and I know instinctively that she's somewhat forgiven him by now. Maybe not all the way, but as close as her personality traits will let her.

Once I've pondered this for about twenty seconds, my vision falls right back to James, who, like me, is relieved to see our friends cooperating with each other again. He looks at me, and he whispers just one phrase into my ear:

"I love you, Lily."

I've heard it from him so many times, yet tonight when he says it, it sounds like the most graceful orchestra symphony. It's like the first time I believed him when he said it – there's just some enchantment in those few words that warms me up more than I can say.

So, I say back, "I love you too."

I kiss him quickly, and I lie him down on the grass with me, and we watch the last remnants of sunlight slip below the horizon line. Ainsley and Sirius are lying down as well, Ainsley cuddled in Sirius's arms, and the four of us just watch the sky once again, like we had been before. Stars begin to show their faces in the rapidly darkening sky, and their twinkle reminds me of the one I see in James's eyes when he's about to say something rude or obnoxious. I smile in spite of myself; he's not perfect by any means, but I know that he's perfect for _me_, and that's all that matters. Somewhere in the middle of night falling and day leaving, his hand edges to mine and holds on to it. His grip is firm, as though he'll never, ever let me go, and for once, I trust that notion.

I know that no matter what happens to me on life's occasionally dark and twisty path, all I'm ever going to need is that hand on mine, and I know I can get through anything. As someone who turned out to be very wise once told me, there are no ifs, ands, or buts about this state of affairs – in the end, it's as simple as James and me, me and James.

Despite all that we've been through with each other, we know we'll be together – now, and always.

♥ ♥ ♥

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_A/N: All right, now here's that speech I promised you:_

_Well, it's been about three months since I posted the first short for this story, and I can't believe where it's gone now. These were just a bunch of little drabbles I wrote out of procrastination. Now, however, it's become a fully fledged story; one I'm actually pretty proud of, both for its length and for some of the content. Thanks so much for reading, reviewing, and making my ego soar to dangerous places._

_The last thing I wanted to address is this: I've been asked for a sequel or a continuation for this story by several people, but my answer to that is no. I have other projects to get to, and I can't if I have these temptingly small/easier shorts as an alternative. I'm flattered that you want more, but I do have other stories you can read – ones with longer chapters, but ones you will hopefully enjoy just as much. :) Thanks again for sticking this new and ultimately satisfying story with me._

_Much love,  
Zay_


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